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I 




KENILWORTH 


BY 


SIR WALTER SCOTT, Babt. 



EDITED 

WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 
• BY 

jTh. castleman, a.m. 

Teacher of English in the McKinley High School 
St. Louis, Missouri 


Ncto gork 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd. 

1907 


All rights reserved 


UBRA8Y of CONGRESS 
Twe Copies Received 

WAR m 1907 

V tepyrlfirht Entry « 

rK ^< • 5 0. 'fo 7, 

CUSS A XXc,| No. 
OOPY B. 



Copyright, 1907, 

By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. 


Set up and electrotyped. Published March, 1907. 


Nortoooti iPregg 

J. S. Cushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith Co. 
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 








PREFACE 


1 



i In preparing this edition of Kenilworth for school use, 
the editor has sought to offer only such information as he 
considers necessary to a thorough understanding and appre¬ 
ciation of the text. Scott’s broad knowledge of legend, 
I history, literature, and languages naturally led to the intro¬ 
duction of many names, incidents, and expressions into his 
Istory which are unfamiliar to many readers ; it is with these 
Shat the notes have to do. The introduction is given with 
. the hope that the information contained in it may act as a 
' stimulant to induce the reader to inquire further into Scott’s 
life and career. 

J. H. C. 

I St. Louis, Missouri, 

February, 1907. 


vii 










. 










































■ CONTENTS 


Introduction page 

A Short Life of Walter Scott . . . . xi 

Chronological Table.xxi 

Biography and Criticism.xxiv 

Scott’s Introduction to Kenilworth . . . xxv 

Kenilworth.1 

Notes.473 

Index to Notes.505 






INTRODUCTION 

A SHORT LIFE OF WALTER SCOTT 

Abridged from Scott’s Autobiography 


■ Ancestry. — Every Scottishman has a pedigree. It is 
a national prerogative as unalienable as his pride and. his 
) poverty. My birth was neither distinguished nor sordid. 
According to the prejudices of my country, it was esteemed 
gentle, as I was connected, though remotely, with ancient 
families both by my father's and mother's side. My father's 
grandfather was Walter Scott, well known by the surname 
Beardie. He was the grandson of Walter Scott, commonly 
called in tradition Auld Watt of Harden. I am, therefore, 
lineally descended from that ancient chieftain, whose name 
> I have made to ring in many a ditty, and from his fair dame, 
the Flower of Yarrow — no bad genealogy for a Border 
minstrel. , . , , 

Walter Scott, my father, was born in 1729, and educated 
! to the profession of a Writer to the Signet. His person and 
face were uncommonly handsome, with an expression of 
sweetness of temper, which was not fallacious; his manners 
were rather formal, but full of genuine kindness. In April, 
i 1758, he married Anne Rutherford, eldest daughter of Dr. 
f John Rutherford, professor of medicine in the University 

of Edinburgh. . .. . 

Birth and Childhood. — I was born, as I believe, on Au¬ 
gust 15, 1771. I showed every sign of health and strength 
until I was about eighteen months old. One night, I have 
been often told, I showed great reluctance to be caught and 
put to bed; it was the last time I was to show such personal 
agility. In the morning I was discovered to be affected 
with the fever which often accompanies the cutting of 
large teeth. It held me three days. On the fourth, when 
they went to bathe me as usual, they discovered that 1 
mad lost the power of my right leg. My grandfather, an 


XI1 


INTRODUCTION 




excellent anatomist as well as physician, the late "worthy 
Alexander Wood, and many others were consulted. There 
appeared to be no dislocation or sprain; blisters and other 
topical remedies were applied in vain. When the efforts )|P 
of regular physicians had been exhausted, the advice of 
my grandfather, Dr. Rutherford, that I should be sent to 
reside in the country, to give the chance of natural exertion,., 
excited by free air and liberty, was resorted to; and beforeW 
I have the recollection of the slightest event, I was anP 
inmate in the farmhouse of Sandy-Knowe. 

My grandmother continued for some years to take charged 
of the farm. She used to tell me many a tale of Watt off 
Harden, Wight Willie of Aikwood, Jamie Telfer of the fairp 
Dodhead, and other heroes, — merrymen all of the persua-P 
sioii and calling of Robin Hood and Little John. Two or|n 
three old books which lay in the window-seat were exploredilnt 
for my amusement in the tedious winter days. Automathes m 
and Ramsay’s Tea-table Miscellany were my favorites, erf 
although at a later period an odd volume of Josephus’ sin 
Wars of the Jews divided my partiality. My kind and affec- |li 
tionate aunt, Miss Janet Scott, used to read these works !ra 
to me with admirable patience, until I could repeat long it 
passages by heart. The ballad of Hardyknute I was early! 101 
master of, to the great annoyance of almost our only visitor, iva 
the worthy clergyman of the parish, Dr. Duncan, who hadlter 
not patience to have a sober chat interrupted by my shout- id 
ing forth this ditty. i $ 

I was in my fourth year when my father was advised that k 
the Bath waters might be of some advantage to my lame- p; 
ness. My health, was by this time a good deal confirmed ill 
by the country air, and the influence of that imperceptible sto 
and unfatiguing exercise to which the good sense of my«j* 
grandfather had subjected me; for when the day was fine, ® 
I was usually carried out and laid down beside the old r 
shepherd, among the crags or rocks round which he fed his m 
sheep. The impatience of a child soon inclined me to strug- L 
gle with my infirmity, and I began by degrees to stand, to ir 
walk, and to run. jj 

During my residence at Bath, I acquired the rudiments , 
of reading at a day-school, kept by an old dame near our n 
lodgings, and I had never a more regular teacher, although ( 
I think I did not attend her a quarter of a year. An occa- nj 
sional lesson from my aunt supplied the rest. Afterward, 





INTRODUCTION 


Xlll 


when grown a big boy, I had a few lessons from Mr. Stalker, 
of Edinburgh, and finally from the Rev. Mr. Cleeve. But I 
k never acquired a just pronunciation, nor could I read with 
much propriety. _ . 

\ After being a year at Bath, I returned first to Edinburgh, 
and afterward for a season to Sandy-Knowe. My lameness 
• and my solitary habits had made me a tolerable reader, 
and my hours of leisure were usually spent in reading aloud 
/to my mother, Pope’s translation of Homer, which, except¬ 
ing a few traditionary ballads, and the songs in Allan Ram- 
| say’s Evergreen , was the first poetry which I perused. My 
t mother had good natural taste and great feeling: she used 
Ho make me pause upon those passages which expressed 
I generous and worthy sentiments, and if she could not divert 
( me from those which were descriptive of battle and tumult, 
)she contrived at least to divide my attention between them. 
\ My own enthusiasm, however, was chiefly awakened by the 
wonderful and the terrible — the common taste of children, 
but in which I have remained a child even unto this day. 

High School. — In 1778 I was sent to the second class of 
the Grammar School, or High School of Edinburgh, then 
taught by Mr. Luke Fraser, a good Latin scholar and a 
. very worthy man. Though I had received, with my brothers, 
in private, lessons of Latin from Mr. James French, now a 
I minister of the Kirk of Scotland, I was nevertheless rather 
I behind the class in which I was placed both in years and in 

progress. . . ...... 

' In the meanwhile my acquaintance with English literature 
was gradually extending itself. In the intervals of my 
school hours I had always perused with avidity such books 
of history or poetry or voyages and travels as chance pre¬ 
sented to me — not forgetting the usual, or rather ten times 
the usual, quantity of fairy tales, Eastern stories, romances, 
etc. These studies were totally unregulated and undirected. 
My tutor thought it almost a sin to open a profane play or 
poem. Chance, however, threw in my way a poetical pre¬ 
ceptor. This was no other than the excellent and benevolent 
Dr. Blacklock, well known at that time as a literary char¬ 
acter. The kind old man opened to me the stories of his 
library, and through his recommendation I became intimate 
with Ossian and Spenser. I was delighted with both, yet 
I think chiefly with the latter poet. The tawdry repetitions 
of the Ossianic phraseology disgusted me rather sooner than 




XIV 


INTRODUCTION 


might have been expected from my age. But Spenser I 
could have read forever. Too young to trouble myself 
about the allegory, I considered all the knights and ladies 
and dragons and giants in their outward and exoteric sense 
and God only knows how delighted I was to find myself in 
such society. As I had always a wonderful facility in retain- 
ing in my memory whatever verses pleased me, the quantity 
e Whlch 1 could re P eat was re ally mar- 

it 1 m B r U -i memor y of mine was a very fickle ally 
it seldom failed to preserve most tenaciously a favorite 

der r Jd balh^h + pla y“ hou / se dit ty, or, above all, a Bor- 
ities of H?frfrt’ bUt names ’ dates > and the other technical- 
m-i 1 e /J aped me m a most melancholy degree. 
The philosophy of history, a much more important subject 
was also a sealed book at this period of my life- but I fn4dn * 
ally ^semWed much of what was striktag^d pttu~ 
in historical narrative; and when, in riper years I attended 
more to the deduction of general principa l^Ivas f"ed, 

r^ a & Ul 1 t ( f ,n° eXaraP ] eS in “Nation of them 
good hand until he knew how to play it P P “ 

In a d d gnded°if f ^ b 7 P °"^ r ^^““‘io^and^meSory 

it was indefatigable, and I Xc! have ! n a d . Is f lm l natin g as 
reason to repent that few ever read so much, j£d ^ 

watTn S acquIfntanJe ^th^Ta, 8 1 “X 5 ab ° Ut this time ' 

through the flat medium of Mr Hool t e ™ sale ' > ! 1 . Slivered 
above all, I then first Wnil Hoole ? translation. But 
Percy’s Reliques of q T nt< ; d ^ Vith . Bisho P 

I became acquainted with th« "^PTt this time also 
those of Mackenzie — whom‘in laTeTv™? T R ‘ chards °«. and 
to call my friend-with Fielding, Smollett!anTsomeothers 





INTRODUCTION 


XV 


of our best novelists. To this period also I can trace dis¬ 
tinctly the awakening of that delightful feeling for the 
beauties of natural objects which has never since deserted 
me. 


Abridged from Hutton’s Life of Scott 

College and Law. — As Scott grew up, entered the classes 
of the college, and began his legal studies, first as appren¬ 
tice to his father, and then in the law classes of the Univer¬ 
sity, he became noticeable to all his friends for his gigantic 
memory, — the rich stores of romantic material with which 
it was loaded, — his giant feats of industry for any cherished 
purpose, — his delight in adventure and in all athletic 
enterprises. 

In the second year of his apprenticeship, at about the 
age of sixteen, he had an attack of hemorrhage, no recur¬ 
rence of which took place for some forty years, but which 
was then the beginning of the end. During this. illness, 
silence was absolutely imposed upon him. It was at this 
time that the lad began his study of the scenic side of his¬ 
tory, and especially of campaigns, which he illustrated for 
himself by the arrangement of shells, seeds, and pebbles, 
so as to represent encountering armies. He also managed 
so to arrange the looking-glasses in his room as to see the 
troops march out to exercise in the meadows as he lay in 
bed. His reading was almost all in the direction of military 
exploit, or romance and mediaeval legend and the later 
Border songs of his own country. He learned Italian and 
read Ariosto. Later he learned Spanish and devoured 
Cervantes, whose “novelas,” he said, “ first inspired him 
with the ambition to excel in fiction; ” and all that he read 
and admired he remembered. 

Lawyer. — It might be supposed that with these roman¬ 
tic tastes, Scott could scarcely have made much of a lawyer, 
though the inference would, I believe, be quite mistaken. 
His father, however, reproached him with being better 
fitted for a pedler than a lawyer, — so persistently did he 
trudge over all the neighboring counties in search of the 
beauties of nature and the historic associations of battle, 
siege, or legend. 

In spite of all this love of excitement, Scott became a 
sound lawyer and might have been a great lawyer, had not 


XVI 


INTRODUCTION 


his pride of character, the impatience of his genius, and the j 
stir of his imagination rendered him indisposed to wait and 1 
slave in the precise manner which the prepossessions of 1 
solicitors appoint. He continued to practice at the bar — I 
nominally at least — for fourteen years, but the most I 
which he ever seems to have made in any one year was short ft 
of 230Z., and latterly his practice was much diminishing I 
instead of increasing. His own impatience of solicitors 1 
patronage was against him; his well-known dabblings in i 
poetry were still more against him; and his general repute E 
for wild and unprofessional adventurousness, which was I 
much greater than he deserved, was probably most of j 
all against him. In his eighth year at the bar he accepted 
a small permanent appointment with 3001 a year, as sheriff j 
of Selkirkshire; and this occurring soon after his marriage I 
to a lady of some means, no doubt diminished still further I 
his professional zeal. The life of literature and the life of [ 
the Bar hardly ever suit, and in Scott’s case they suited I 
the less, that he felt himself likely to be a dictator in the one | 
field and only a postulant in the other. Literature was a f 
far greater gainer by his choice than Law could have been } 
a loser. For his capacity for the law he shared with thou- j 
sands of able men, his capacity for literature with few or f 
none. 

Poet. — Scott’s genius flowered late. Cadyow Castle 
the first of his poems, I think, that has indisputable genius 
plainly stamped on its terse and fiery lines, was composed 
in 1802, when he was already thirty-one years of age. It 
was in the same year that he wrote the first canto°of his 
first great romance in verse, The Lay of the Last Minstrel. 

It was not till 1808, three years after the publication of 
The Lay, that Marmion, his greatest poem, was published. 
The Lady of the Lake appeared in 1810. 

. No poet ever equalled Scott in the description of wild and 
simple scenes and the expression of wild and simple feelings. 
But whatever his subject, his treatment of it is the same. 
Though romantic, it is simple almost to bareness. Scott 
used to say that in poetry Byron “ bet ” him; and, no doubt 
that m which chiefly as a poet he “ bet” him, was in the 
variety, the richness, the lustre of his effects. A certain 
ruggedness and bareness was of the essence of Scott’s 
idealism and romance. It was so in relation to scenery, i 
He told Washington Irving that he loved the very nakedness 







INTRODUCTION 


xvn 


of the Border country. Now, the bareness which he so loved 
in his native scenery, there is in all his romantic elements 
of feeling. It is while he is bold and stern, that he is at his 
i highest ideal point. It is in painting those moods and 
exploits, in relation to which he shares most completely 
! the feelings of ordinary men, but experiences them with 
far greater strength and purity than ordinary men, that he 
triumphs as a poet. 

Novelist. — In the summer of 1814, Scott took up again 
and completed — almost at a single heat — a fragment 
of a Jacobite story, begun in 1805, and then laid aside. It 
was published anonymously, and its astonishing success 
I turned back again the scales of Scott’s fortunes, already 
inclining ominously toward a catastrophe. This story 
was Waverley. Mr. Carlisle has praised Waverley above its 
fellows. “ On the whole, contrasting Waverley, which was 
carefully written, with most of its followers which were 
! written extempore, one may regret the extempore method.” 
This is, however, a very unfortunate judgment. Not one 
of the whole series of novels appears to have been written 
more completely extempore than the great bulk of Waverley. 
But, in truth, there is no evidence that any of the novels was 
i labored, or even so much as carefully composed. Scott’s 
| method of composition was always the same; and when 
j writing an imaginative work, the rate of progress ^eems to 
have been pretty even, depending much more upon the 
absence of disturbing engagements, than on any mental 
irregularity. The morning was always his brightest time; 
but morning or evening, in country or in town, well or ill, 
writing with his own pen or dictating to an amanuensis in 
the intervals of screaming fits due to the torture of cramp 
'in his stomach, Scott spun away at his imaginative web 
almost as evenly as a silkworm spins at its golden cocoon. 
In the fourteen most effective years of his literary life (1814- 
1829) during which he wrote twenty-three novels, besides 
* shorter tales, the best stories appear to have been, on the 
whole, the most rapidly written, probably because they took 
the strongest hold of the author s imagination. 

When Scott wrote, such fertility as his in the production 
of novels was regarded with amazement approaching to 
j absolute incredulity. Yet he was in this respect only the 
advanced-guard of a not inconsiderable class of men and 
j women who have a special gift for pouring out story after 





XV1U 


INTRODUCTION 


story containing a great variety of figures, while retaining! : 
a certain even level of merit. But though to our larger 
experience, Scott’s achievement,-in respect of mere fertility 11 
is by no means the miracle which it once seemed, I do notf 
tmnk one of his successors can compare with him for a S ! 
moment m the ease and truth with which he painted, not a 
merely the life of his own time and country, but that of days 
long past, and often too of scenes far distant. The most 
powerful of all his stories, Old Mortality, was the story of a 

arK +2 m ° re centur y and a quarter before he wrote- « 

and others go back to the period of the Tudors, that is 

blU? «l n n tUri ! S +u nd K a + half ‘ Q uentin Durward, which is all 
but amongst the best, runs back farther still, far into the 
previous century while Ivanhoe and The Talisman cany us 
back more than five hundred years y 

The most striking feature of Scott’s romances is that 
for the most part, they are pivoted on public rather than 
mere private interests and passions. With but few excep¬ 
ts 1118 1 no Y' els u . s an imaginative view, not of mere n 
ndividuals, but of individuals as they are affected bv the in 

ftt and social Visions of the age in^this 

it is which gives his books so large an interest for old 

recluse ^likf Xd ^th** 1 * the W °" M ° f societ ^ aad the f 
attitudinizing before 7 the | 

all living the sort of life whichthe relder^ 

wmmm 

crisis and Constahlp 1 , , came a financial 

his expenses he received Constable’s bill^fnr mee t 

for other people. Thus, when Mr. Terry, the^ctorTSme 





INTRODUCTION 


XIX 


joint lessee and manager of the Adelphi Theatre, London, 
Scott became his surety for 1250Z., while James Ballantyne 
became his surety for 500 1. more, and both these sums had 
to be paid by Sir Walter after Terry’s failure in 1828. Such 
obligations as these, however, would have been nothing 
when compared with Sir Walter’s means, had all his bills 
on Constable been duly honored, and had not the printing 
firm of Ballantyne and Co. (of which he was a silent member) 
been so deeply involved with Constable’s house that it 
Necessarily became insolvent when he stopped. Even his 
loss of the price of several novels by Constable s failure 
would not seriously have compromised Scott s position, 
but for his share in the printing-house which fell with Con¬ 
stable, and the obligations of which amounted to 117,000L 
As Scott had always forestalled his income, — spending 
the purchase-money of his poems and novels before they 
were written, — such a failure as this, at the age of fifty- 
five would have been paralyzing, had he not been a man 
of iron nerve, and of a pride and courage hardly ever equalled. 
Domestic calamity, too, was not far off. For two years he 
had been watching the failure of his wife s health with in¬ 
creasing anxiety, and as calamities seldom come single, her 
illness took a most serious form at the very time when the 
blow fell, and she died within four months of the failure. 
Scott was himself unwell at the critical moment, and was 
taking sedatives which discomposed his bram. This was 
his preparation for his failure, and the bold resolve that 
followed it, to work for his creditors as he had worked for 
himself, and to pay off, if possible, the whole 117,0001. by 
his own literary exertions. Between January, 1826, and 
January, 1828, he earned for his creditors very nearly 
40 000Z. Woodstock sold for 8228/., “a matchless sale 
as Sir Walter remarked, “ for less than three months’ work. 
The first two editions of The Life of Napoleon Bonaparte 
sold for 18,000Z. On the 17th of December 1830, the lia¬ 
bilities stood at 54,000/., having been reduced 63,000/. 

W *Last Days — In the month of September, 1831, the dis¬ 
ease of the brain which had long been in existence made a 
considerable step in advance. It was well, therefore, that 
Scott at last consented to try the effect of travel on his 
health. On the 29th of October he sailed for Malta, which 
he reached on the 22d of November. From Malta he went 


XX 


INTRODUCTION 


to Naples. On the 22d of March, 1832, Goethe died, an 
event which made a great impression on Scott. His great 
and urgent desire now was to return to Abbotsford. Accord¬ 
ingly on the 16th of April he quitted Naples. At Nimeguen, * 
on the 9th of June, while in a steamboat on the Rhine, he 
had his most serious attack of apoplexy, but would not ’ 
discontinue his journey, was lifted into an English steam¬ 
boat at Rotterdam on the 11th of June, and arrived in Lon-i 
don on the 13th. On the 7th of July he was lifted into his : 
carriage, followed by his trembling and weeping daughters, 
and so taken to a steamboat. He remained unconscious 
°f any change till after his arrival in Edinburgh, when on 
the 11th of July, he was placed again in his carriage, and 
remained in it quite unconscious during the first two stages ij 
of the journey to Tweedside. But as the carriage entered ] 
the valley of the Gala, he began to look about him. When i 
the outline of the Eildon hills came in view, his excitement 
was great, and when his eye caught the towers of Abbots¬ 
ford he sprang up with a cry of delight. Mr. Laidlaw was ? 
waiting for him, and he met him with a cry, “ Ha! Willie} 
Laidlaw! O man, how often I have thought of you! ” \ 
The next morning he was wheeled about his garden, and on 
the following morning was out in this way for a couple of j 
hours; within a day or two he fancied that he could write 
again, but on taking the pen into his hand, his fingers could 
n °t clasp it, and he sank back with tears rolling down his 
cheek. Later, when Laidlaw said in his hearing that Sir 
Walter had had a little repose, he replied, “ No Willie- 

no repose for Sir Walter but in the grave.” ’ 

After this Sir Walter never left his room. He lingered 
however, till the 21st of September, with only one clear i 
interval of consciousness, on Monday, the 17th. On that 
day Mr. Lockhart was called to his bedside with the news 
that he had awakened in a state of composure and con- 
sciousness, and wished to see him. “ Lockhart,” he said ,\ 
1 may have but a minute to speak to you. My dear be 
a good man, be virtuous, — be religious, — be a good ^ 
man. Nothing else will give you any comfort when you -I 
come to he here.” With this he sank into a very tranquil i 
sleep,. and, indeed, he scarcely afterward gave any sign of 
consciousness. He died four days later, a month after com¬ 
pleting his sixty-first year. 




INTRODUCTION 


XXI 


Chronological Table 


scott’s life and works 


BIOGRAPHY AND LITERATURE 


1771 


1778 

1785 


1792 

1796 

1797 

1799 

1800 

1802 

1804 

1805 

1806 


Born, August 15. 


Entered High School, Edin¬ 
burgh. 

Entered University of Edin¬ 
burgh. 


1771 

1772 

1774 

1775 


Smollett and Gray died. 
Coleridge born. 

Southey born. Goldsmith 
died. 

Jane Austen born. Burke’s 
Conciliation Speech. 


1784 


Johnson died. 


1786 

1788 

1791 


Burns’s Poems (first vol¬ 
ume). 

Byron born. 

Boswell’s Life of Dr. John - 


Admitted to the bar. 

Buerger’s Ballads trans¬ 
lated. 

Married to Miss Carpenter. 


Appointed Sheriff of Sel¬ 
kirkshire. Goethe’s 
Goetz von Berlichingen 
translated. 

The Eve of St. John, a 
ballad. 

Border Minstrelsy. 

Thomas of Ercildoune’s 
Sir Tristrem: a Metri¬ 
cal Romance, edited. 

The Lay of the Last Min¬ 
strel : a Poem. 

Appointed Clerk of the Ses¬ 
sion. Memoirs of the 
Great Civil War, edited.] 


1792 

1795 

1796 


son. 

Shelley born. 

Keats and Carlyle born. 
Burns died. 


1798 


Wordsworth and Coleridge’s 
Lyrical Ballads. 


1800 


Macaulay born. 
















XXII 


INTRODUCTION 


scott’s life and works 


biography and literature 




1807 

1808 

Marmion: a Tale of Flod- 
den Field. Works of 
John Dryden, Memoirs 
of Robert Carey, and 
S trutt’s Queenhoo-H all: 
a Romance, edited. 


1809 

State Papers and Somers’s 
Collection of Tracts, 
edited. 

1809 

1810 

The Lady of the Lake: a 
Poem. English Min¬ 
strelsy, edited. 


1811 

The Vision of Don Roder¬ 
ick: a Poem. Secret 
History of the Court of 
James I, edited. 

1811 

1812 

Abbotsford taken posses¬ 
sion of. 

1812 

1813 

Rokeby: a Poem; The Bri¬ 
dal of Triermain. 

1813 

1814 

Waverley; The Border An¬ 
tiquities. Works of 

Swift, edited. 

1814 

1815 

Guy Mannering; The Lord 
of the Isles: a Poem; 
The Field of Waterloo: 
a Poem. Memoirs of 
the Somervilles, edited. 


1816 

The Antiquary; Tales of my 
Landlord, first series. 
{The Black Dwarf, Old 
Mortality.) 

1816 ( 

1817 

Harold the Dauntless: a 
Poem. 

1817 t 

1818 

Rob Roy; Tales of my 
Landlord, second series. 

1818 ] 


Moore’s Irish Melodies. 
Byron’s Hours of Idle¬ 
ness. 


Tennyson, Mrs. Browning, 
and Darwin born. By¬ 
ron’s English Bards and 
Scotch Reviewers. 


Thackeray born. 


Browning and Dickens 

born. Byron’s Childe 

Harold’s Pilqrimaqe 
(Cantos I-II). 
ley’s Queen Mab. By¬ 
ron’s The Giaour and 
The Bride of Abydos. 
ds worth’s Excursion. 
Byron’s The Corsair 
and Lara. 


eridge’s Christabel. By¬ 
ron’s Childe Harold’s 
Pilgrimage (Canto III), 
Prisoner of Chillon. 
Shelley’s Alastor. 
le Austen died. Keats’s 
Poems (first volume). 
Byron’s Manfred .. 
ats’s Endymion. Byron’s 
Childe Harold’s Pil- 
grimage (Canto IV). 

















INTRODUCTION 


XXlll 


scott’s life and works 


1819 


1820 


1821 


1822 


1823 

1824 

1825 


{The Heart of Midlo¬ 
thian.) 

Tales of my Landlord, third 
series. {The Bride of 
Lammermoor; The 
Legend of Montrose.) 
Ivanhoe: a Romance; The 
Monastery. Knighted. 

Kenilworth. The Novelist’s 
Library, edited. 

The Pirate; The Fortunes of 
Nigel; Peveril of the 
Peak; Halidon Hill: 
a Dramatic Sketch. 
Many memoirs and 
notes, edited. 

Quentin Durward. 

St. Ronan’s Well; Redgaunt- 
let. 

Tales of the Crusaders {The 
Betrothed, The Talis- 


BIOGRAPHY AND LITERATURE 


1819 


Shelley’s The Revolt of 
Islam. 

Byron’s Don Juan. Shel¬ 
ley’s The Cenci. 


1820 

1821 

1822 


Shelley’s Prometheus Un¬ 
bound. Keats’s Eve of 
St. Agnes, etc. 

Keats died. DeQuincey’s 
Confessions of an Eng¬ 
lish Opium-Eater. 

Matthew Arnold born. 

Shelley drowned. 


1824 


Byron died. 


1826 

1827 


1828 


1829 


man). 

Woodstock; Provincial An¬ 
tiquities of Scotland. 
Ballantynes failed ; 
wife died. 

Life of Napoleon Buona¬ 
parte; Chronicles of 
Canongate, first series. 
{The Highland Widow, 
The Two Drovers, The 
Surgeon's Daughter.) 

Miscellaneous Prose Works 
collected (six vols .); 
Tales of a Grandfather, 
first series; Chronicles 
of the Canongate, sec¬ 
ond series. {The Fair 
Maid of Perth.) 

Tales of a Grandfather, 
second series. Anne of 
Geierstein ; The History 
of Scotland. 


1827 


Tennysons’ (Alfred and 
Charles) Poems (first 
volume). 














XXIV 


INTRODUCTION 


scott’s life and works biography and literature 


1830 


1831 


1832 


Tales of a Grandfather, third 
series ; The Doom of 
Devorgoil: a Melo¬ 
drama. 

T ales of a Grandfather, 
fourth series. Tales 
of my Landlord, fourth 
series. (Count Robert 
of Paris, Castle Dan- 
gerous.) Visit to Italy. 

Died, September 21. 


1830 


Tennyson’s Lyrical Poems 


1832|Goethe died. 


BIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM 

The list of biographies and criticisms given below is bv no 
means exhaustive. Numerous articles 8 many of them of 
merit, have been published about Scott. It is from these 
that a few written by well-known men have been chosen 

S c °tt, J. G. Lockhart (2 vols)* Sir 
Walter Scott, R. H. Hutton in English Men of Letters Series* 
Life of Scott C D. Yonge in Great Writers Series* Domestic 
Manners and Private Life of Sir Walter Scott, James IW 
nticism. Essays on Scott, Thomas Carlvle A C Qwin 
























INTRODUCTION 


XXV 


SCOTT’S INTRODUCTION TO KENILWORTH 


A certain degree of success, real or supposed, in the 
delineation of Queen Mary, naturally induced the Author 
to attempt something similar respecting “her sister and 
and her foe, ” the celebrated Elizabeth. He will not, how¬ 
ever, pretend to have approached the task with the same 
feelings; for the candid Robertson himself confesses having 
felt the prejudices with which a Scottishman is tempted to 
regard the subject; and what so liberal a historian avows, 
a poor romance-writer dares not disown. But he hopes the 
influence of a prejudice almost as natural to him as his 
native air will not be found to have greatly affected the 
sketch he has attempted of England’s Elizabeth. I have 
endeavoured to describe her as at once a high-minded 
sovereign and a female of passionate feelings, hesitating 
betwixt the sense of her rank and the duty she owed her 
subjects on the one hand, and on the other her attachment 
to a nobleman who, in external qualifications at least, 
amply merited her favour. The interest of the story is 
thrown upon that period when the sudden death of the 
first Countess of Leicester seemed to open to the ambition 
of her husband the opportunity of sharing the crown of his 


sovereign. _ . . ,, 

It is possible that slander, which very seldom favours the 
memories of persons in exalted stations, may have black¬ 
ened the character of Leicester with darker shades than 
really belonged to it. But the almost general voice of the 
times attached the most foul suspicions to the death of the 
unfortunate countess, more especially as it took place so 
very opportunely for the indulgence of her lover s ambi¬ 
tion. If we can trust Ashmole’s Antiquities of Berkshire ?, 
there was but too much ground for the traditions which 
charge Leicester with the murder of his wife. In the follow¬ 
ing extract of the passage, the reader will find the authority 
I had for the story of the romance: 

“ At the west end of the church is the rums of a manor, 
anciently belonging (as a cell, or place of removal as some 
report) to the monks of Abmgton. At the Dissolution, the 
said manor, or lordship, was conveyed to one — Owen (i 
believe), the possessor of Godstow then. 


XXVI 


INTRODUCTION 


In the hall, over the chimney, I find Abington arms cut 
in stone, viz. a patonee between four martletts; and also 
another escutcheon, viz. a lion rampant, and several miters 
cut in stone about the house. There is also in the said house 
a chamber called Dudley’s chamber, where the Earl of 
Leicester’s wife was murdered, of which this is the story 
following: 

“ Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, a very goodly person¬ 
age, and singularly well featured, being a great favourite to 
Queen Elizabeth, it was thought, and commonly reported, 
that, had he been a bachelor or widower, the Queen would 
have made him her husband; to this end, to free himself of 
all obstacles, he commands, or perhaps, with fair, flattering 
mtreaties, desires his wife to repose herself here at his 
servant Anthony Forster’s house, who then lived in the 
aforesaid manor-house; and also prescribed to Sir Richard 
Varney (a prompter to this design), at his coming hither, 
that he should first attempt to poison her, and if that did 
not takeeffect, then by any other way whatsoever to 
dispatch her. This, it seems, was proved by the report of 
Dr. Walter Bayly, sometime fellow of New College, then 
living m Oxford, and professor of physic in that university; 
who, because he would not consent to take away her life by 
poison, the earl endeavoured to displace him from the court 
Uus man, it seems, reported for most certain that there was 
a practice in Cumnor among the conspirators to have 
poisoned this poor innocent lady a little before she was 
killed, which was attempted after this manner: — Thev 

g °u d l ^v y “ d heay y ( as one that well knew 
by her other handling that her death was not far off), began 

*T2 de he I tl ! at h f Present disease was abundancf of 
nn ly fl d ° + th ! r humours, etc., and therefore would 

refifsinff tn S H^ er t0 SOme potion ’ which she absolutely 
d ’ aS Stl11 sus P ectln g the worst; whereupon 
OI \ a day ( unawares to her) for Dr. 
noHon’ ^^P^ted him to perswade her to take some little 
OxforH by Jl direc + t10 ^ and they would fetch the same at 
Oxford, meaning to have added something of their own 

tim^did 0 ^ 011, + aS the - doct P r u P° n i ust cause and considera- 
^rSnii d d j U +? ec V their great importunity, and the 

€mDtorilv d den?pd a f? - had ° f physic ’ and therefore he per- 
« rily denied their request; misdoubting (as he after- 
ards reported) least, if they had poisoned her under the 



INTRODUCTION 


xxvil 


name of his potion, he might after have been hanged for a 
colour of their sin, and the doctor remained still well as¬ 
sured that, this way taking no effect, she would not long 
escape their violence, which afterwards happened thus. 
For Sir Richard Varney above-said (the chief projector m 
this design), who, by the earl’s order, remained that day of 
her death alone with her, with one man only and Forster, 
who had that day forcibly sent away all her servants from 
her to Abington market, about 3 miles distant from this 
place _ they (I say, whether first stifling her or else stran¬ 
gling her) afterwards flung her down a pair of stairs and 
broke her neck, using much violence upon her; but, how¬ 
ever, though it was vulgarly reported that she by chance 
fell downstairs (but yet without hurting her hood that was 
upon her head), yet the inhabitants will tell you there that 
she was conveyed from her usual chamber where she lay to 
another where the bed’s head of the.chamber stood close to 
a privy postern door, where they m the night came and 
stifled her in her bed, bruised her head very much, broke 
her neck, and at length flung her downstairs thereby be¬ 
lieving the world would have thought it a mischance, and so 
have blinded their villany. But behold the mercy and 
justice of God in revenging and discovering thiss lady s 
murder, for one of the persons that was a coadjutor m this 
murder was afterwards taken for a felony m the marches of 
Wales and offering to publish the manner of the aforesaid 
murder was privately made away in the prison by the earl s 
Appointment; and Sir Richard Varney the other dying 
about the same time in London, cried miserably, and 
blasphemed God, and said to a person of note (who hath 
related the same to others since), not long before his death, 
that all the devils in hell did tear him m pieces. Forster 
likewise, after this fact, being a man formeriy addicted to 
bosnitalitv company, mirth, and music, was afterwards 
observed to forsake all this, [and] with much melancholy 
and pensiveness (some say with madness) pined and drooped 
away The wife also ofButter, kinsman to the earl 
gave out the whole fact a little before her death. Neither 
Ire these following passages to be forgotten, a ?“° :a “ 

: ever she was murdered, they made great hasteit®,'“JJJJ it®. 

hpfore the coroner had given m his inquest (which the earl 
i himself condemned as 8 not done advisedly) which her 
father, or Sir John Robertsett (as I suppose), hearing of, 



XXV111 


INTRODUCTION 


came with all speed hither, caused her corps to be taken up 
the coroner to sit upon her, and further enquiry to be made 

fhSnSM bUS1 ? eSS t0 the ful1 ’ but 11 was generally 
. the earl stopped his mouth, and made up the 

t wnrlfl™ tbe 1 m '> and the good earl, to make plain to 

thl d i the f reat l -°7 e he bare to her while alive, what a 
grief the loss of so virtuous a lady was to his tender heart 
caused (though the thing, by these and other means, was 
beaten into the heads of the principal men of the Uni¬ 
church in rwf 01 ^ h +u body to be re buried in St. Maries 
c urch in Oxford with great pomp and solemnity. It is 

remarkable, when Dr. Babington (the earl’s chaplain) did 
preach the funeral sermon, he tript once or twK his 
lTdv C «n b Y, recommending to their memories that virtuous 

Th£ Zl afte^alTwf ’i nStead J ° f * aying pitifully slain. 
B^soned’hv th«t whf P urders and Poisonings, was himself 
poisoned by that which was prepared for others fsome sav 

Baker 7n Z° rn ^ ry Lod S<> before mentioned Sough 
anno 1588 ” Chr ° Mcle would have « a t Killingworth), 

The same accusation has been adopted and circulated 

gsMSSKs 

supposed murder of Leicester- s lady! allUSlon t0 the 

wefl as name's from* Ashmole anTST* SeVend incidents aa 
but my first acquaintance with th^u^f 016 ear y authorities; 
more pleasing med urn of v ^se rtrSF wa ^ tb r™gh the 
when the mere power of numbVr. hf 18 a penod in y° uth 
on ear and imagination than in T™ st \ ron S effect 

this season of immature taste the^A a ^y anced life. At 

Of their art, were eminent for their powers^f‘^rbal’melody 



INTRODUCTION 


XXIX 


above most who have practised this department of poetry. 
One of those pieces of Mickle, which the Author was par¬ 
ticularly pleased with, is a ballad, or rather a species of 
elegy, on the subject of Cumnor Hall, which, with others 
by the same author, were to be found in Evans’s Ancient 
Ballads (vol. iv. p. 130), to which work Mickle made liberal 
contributions. The first stanza especially had a peculiar 
species of enchantment for the youthful ear of the Author, 
the force of which is not even now entirely spent; some 
others are sufficiently prosaic. 


CUMNOR HALL 

The dews of summer night did fall; 

The moon, sweet regent of the sky, 

Silver'd the walls of Cumnor Hall, 

And many an oak that grew thereby. 

Now naught was heard beneath the skies. 
The sounds of busy life were still, 

Save an unhappy lady’s sighs, 

That issued from that lonely pile. 

“Leicester,” she cried, “is this thy love 
That thou so oft has sworn to me, 

To leave me in this lonely grove, 

Immured in shameful privity ? 

“No more thou comest with lover’s speed, 
Thy once beloved bride to see; 

But be she alive, or be she dead, 

I fear, stern earl, ’s the same to thee. 

“Not so the usage I received 

When happy in my father’s hall; 

No faithless husband then me grieved, 

No chilling fears did me appal. 

“I rose up with the cheerful morn, 

No lark more blithe, no flower more gay ; 

And, like the bird that haunts the thorn, 

So merrily sung the livelong day. 

“If that my beauty is but small, 

Among court ladies all despised, 

Why didst thou rend it from that hall, 
Where, scornful earl, it well was prized? 


XXX 


IN TROD UCTIO N 


And when you first to me made suit, 

Mow fair I was you oft would say ! 

c ?nquest, pluck’d the fruit, 
ihen left the blossom to decay. 

“Yes! now neglected and despised, 
r>J he r ° se I S Pale, the lily’s dead; 

° nCe the 1 ir charms so prized, 

Is sure the cause those charms are fled. 

< F A° r J S ? OW ,’ when sick’ning grief doth nrev 
And tender love’s repaid with scorn P 
T *wk W f^ est beaut y will decay, — 

What floweret can endure the storm? 

At court, I’m told, is beauty’s throne 

That Frf ? Ver % lad y’ s Passing rare, 

That Eastern flowers, that shame the sun 
Are not so glowing, not so fair. ' 

“Then, earl, why didst thou leave the beds 
Where roses and where lilies vie * 

lo seek a primrose, whose pale shades 
Must sicken when those gauds are by ? 

“ ’Mong rural beauties I was one 
Among the fields wild flowers are fair • 

And C ?ho n ,iZ f SWain K might me have won 
And thought my beauty passing rare. 

“But Lei ter (or I much am wronv) 

Or tis not beauty lures thy vows- 
Rather ambition’s gilded crown 
Makes thee forget thy humble spouse. 

< lteinhl C r?d te^, W i hy ’ again 1 P lead 

Whv did«J +vf d SUFe i y may re Pine) — 

“ S»f„r llage i m ^ deils of the plain 
Salute me lowly as they go; 

Nor U think y mark . my Sdk6n train ’ 

IN or think a countess can have woe. 




INTRODUCTION 


XXXI 


The simple nymphs! they little know 
How far more happy’s their estate; 

To smile for joy — than sigh for wo4 — 
1 o be content — than to be great. 


How far less blest am I than them, 
t •, ai N to pme and waste wi th care! 
tv P® or Pi an t, that, from its stem 
Divided, feels the chilling air. 


“Nor, cruel earl! can I enjoy 
The humble charms of solitude; 

Your mmions proud my peace destroy, 
Hy sullen frowns or pratings rude. 

“Last night, as sad I chanced to stray, 
rhe village death-bell smote my ear- 
ihey wink’d aside, and seemed to say, 
Countess, prepare, thy end is near!’ 


“And now, while happy peasants sleep, 
Here I sit lonely and forlorn; 

No one to soothe me as I weep, 

Save Philomel on yonder thorn. 


My spirits flag—-my hopes decay— 

Still that dread death-bell smites my ear * 
And many a boding seems to say, 

Countess, prepare, thy end is near! ’ ” 


Thus sore and sad that lady grieved 
In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear; 

J nan y a heartfelt sigh she heaved, 
And let fall many a bitter tear. 


And ere the dawn of day appear’d 
In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear, 
Tull many a piercing scream was heard. 
And many a cry of mortal fear. 


The death-bell thrice was heard to ring 
An aerial voice was heard to call, ' 
And thrice the raven flapp’d its wing 
Around the towers of Cumnor Hall. 

The mastiff howl’d at village door, 

The oaks were shatter’d on the green • 
Woe was the hour—for never more 
That hapless countess e’er was seen! 



xxxii 


INTRODUCTION 


And in that manor now no more 
Is cheerful feast and sprightly ball; 

For ever since that dreary hour 

Have spirits haunted Cumnor Hall. 

The village maids, with fearful glance, 
Avoid the ancient moss-grown wall; 

Nor ever lead the merry dance, 

Among the groves of Cumnor Hall. 

Full many a traveller oft hath sigh’d, 
And pensive wept the countess’ fall, 

As wandring onwards they’ve espied 
The haunted towers of Cumnor Hall. 


Abbotsford 1st March, 1831 





KENILWORTH 




















































































KENILWORTH 


CHAPTER I 

I am an innkeeper, and know my grounds, 

And study them — brain o’ man, I study them. 

I must have jovial guests to drive my ploughs, 

And whistling boys to bring my harvests home, 

Or I shall hear no flails thwack. 

The New Inn. 

It is the privilege of tale-tellers to open their story in an 
inn, the free rendezvous of all travellers, and where the hu¬ 
mour of each displays itself without ceremony or restraint. 
This is specially suitable when the scene is laid during the 
old days of merry England, when the guests were in some 5 
sort not merely the inmates, but the messmates and tem¬ 
porary companions, of mine host, who was usually a 
personage of privileged freedom, comely presence, and good- 
humour. Patronised by him, the characters of the com¬ 
pany were placed in ready contrast; and they seldom failed, io 
during the emptying of a six-hooped pot, to throw off reserve, 
and present themselves to each other and to their landlord 
with the freedom of old acquaintance. 

The village of Cumnor, within three or four miles of 
Oxford, boasted, during the eighteenth of Queen Elizabeth, 0 15 
an excellent inn of the old stamp, conducted, or rather ruled, 
by Giles Gosling, a man of a goodly person and of somewhat 
round belly, fifty years of age and upwards, moderate in his 
reckonings, prompt in his payments, having a cellar of 
sound liquor, a ready wit, and a pretty daughter. Since the 20 
days of old Harry Baillie of the Tabard 0 in Southwark, no 
one had excelled Giles Gosling in the power of pleasing his 
guests of every description; and so great was his fame, that 
to have been in Cumnor without wetting a cup at the bonny 
Black Bear would have been to avouch oneself utterly 25 

1 


B 




2 


KENILWORTH 


indifferent^ to reputation as a traveller. A country fellow 
might as well return from London without looking in the 
face of majesty. The men of Cumnor were proud of their 
host, and their host was proud of his house, his liquor, his 
5 daughter, and himself. 

It was in the courtyard of the inn which called this honest 
fellow landlord that a traveller alighted in the close of the 
evening, gave his horse, which seemed to have made a long 
journey, to the hostler, and made some inquiry, which pro- 
io duced the following dialogue betwixt the myrmidons of the 
bonny Black Bear: 

“What, ho! John Tapster.” 

“At hand, Will Hostler,” replied the man of the spigot, i 
showing himself in his costume of loose jacket, linen breeches, 

15 and green apron, half within and half without a door, which 
appeared to descend to an outer cellar. 

“Here is a gentleman asks if you draw good ale,” con¬ 
tinued the hostler. 

“Beshrew my heart else,” answered the tapster, “since 
20 there are but four miles betwixt us and Oxford. Marry, if 
my ale did not convince the heads of the scholars, they would 
soon convince my pate with the pewter flagon.” 

“Call you that Oxford logic?” said the stranger, who had 
now quitted the rein of his horse, and was advancing towards 
25 the inn door, when he was encountered by the goodly form of 
Giles Gosling himself. 

“Is it logic you talk of, sir guest?” said the host; “why, 
then, have at you with a downright consequence — 

The horse to the rack, 

go And to fire with the sack.” 

“Amen! with all my heart, my good host,” said the | 
stranger; “let it be a quart of your best Canaries , 0 and give 
me your good help to drink it.” 

“Nay, you are but in your accidence yet, sir traveller, if 
35 you call on your host for help for such a sipping matter as a 
quart of sack; were it a gallon, you might lack some neigh- I 
bourly aid at my hand, and yet call yourself a toper.” 

“ Fear me not,” said the guest, “ I will do my devoir as be¬ 
comes a man who finds himself within five miles of Oxford; 
40 for I am not come from the field of Mars° to discredit myself 
amongst the followers of Minerva . 0 ” 




KENILWORTH 


a 


As he spoke thus, the landlord, with much semblance of 
hearty welcome, ushered his guest into a large low chamber, 
where several persons were seated together in different par¬ 
ties — some drinking, some playing at cards, some convers¬ 
ing, and some, whose business called them to be early risers 5 
on the morrow, concluding their evening meal, and confer¬ 
ring with the chamberlain about their night’s quarters. 

The entrance of a stranger procured him that general and 
careless sort of attention which is usually paid on such occa¬ 
sions, from which the following results were deduced: The io.- 
guest was one of those who, with a well-made person, and 
features not in themselves unpleasing, are nevertheless so far 
from handsome that, whether from the expression of their 
features, or the tone of their voice, or from their gait and 
manner, there arises, on the whole, a disinclination to their 15 
society. The stranger’s address was bold, without being 
frank, and seemed eagerly and hastily to claim for him a de¬ 
gree of attention and deference, which he feared would be 
refused, if not instantly vindicated as his right. His attire 
was a riding-cloak, which, when open, displayed a handsome 20 
jerkin overlaid with lace, and belted with a buff girdle, which 
sustained a broadsword and a pair of pistols. 

‘‘You ride well provided, sir,” said the host, looking at the 
weapons as he placed on the table the mulled sack which the 
traveller had ordered. 25 

“ Yes, mine host; I have found the use on’t in dangerous 
times, and I do not, like your modern grandees, turn off my 
followers the instant they are useless.” 

“Ay, sir?” said Giles Gosling; “then you are from the 
Low Countries, 0 the land of pike and caliver?” 30 

“I have been high and low, my friend, broad and wide, 
far and near. But here is to thee in a cup of thy sack; fill 
thyself another to pledge me; and, if it is less than superla¬ 
tive, e’en drink as you have brewed.” 

“Less than superlative!” said Giles Gosling, drinking off 35 
the cup, and smacking his lips with an air of ineffable relish 
— “I know nothing of superlative, nor is there such a wine 
at the Three Cranes, in the Vintry, 0 to my knowledge; but 
if you find better sack than that in the Sheres, 0 or in the 
Canaries either, I would I may never touch either pot or 40 
penny more. Why, hold it up betwixt you and the light, 
you shall see the little motes dance in the golden liquor like 
dust in the sunbeam. But I would rather draw wine for 




4 


KENILWORTH 


ten clowns than one traveller. I trust your honour likes 
the wine?” 

“ It is neat and comfortable, mine host; but to know good 
liquor you should drink where the vine grows. Trust me, 
5 your Spaniard is too wise a man to send you the very soul of 
the grape. Why, this now, which you account so choice, 
were counted but as a cup of bastard at the Groyne 0 or at 
Port St. Mary’s. You should travel, mine host, if you would 
be deep in the mysteries of the butt and pottle-pot.” 
io “ In troth, Signior Guest,” said Giles Gosling, “ if I were to 
travel only that I might be discontented with that which I 
can get at home, methinks I should go but on a fool’s errand. 
Besides, I warrant you, there is many a fool can turn his 
nose up at good drink without ever having been out of the 
15 smoke of Old England; and so ever gramercy mine own 
fireside.” 

“This is but a mean mind of yours, mine host,” said the 
stranger; “I warrant me, all your townfolk do not think so 
basely. You have gallants among you, I dare undertake, 
20 that have made the Virginia voyage, or taken a turn in the 
Low Countries at least. Come, cudgel your memory. Have 
you no. friends in foreign parts that you would gladly have 
tidings of ? ” 

“Troth, sir, not I,” answered the host, “since ranting 
25 Robin of Drysandford was shot at the siege of the Brill. 0 
The devil take the caliver that fired the ball, for a blyther lad 
never filled a cup at midnight! But he is dead and gone, 
and I know not a soldier, or a traveller, who is a soldier’s 
mate, that I would give a peeled codling for.” 

30 “ By the mass, that is strange. What! so many of our 

brave English hearts are abroad, and you, who seem to be a 
man of mark, have no friend, no kinsman, among them? ” 

“Nay, if you speak of kinsmen,” answered Gosling, “I 
have one wild slip of a kinsman, who left us in the last year 
35 of Queen Mary; but he is better lost than found.” 

“ Do not say so, friend, unless you have heard ill of him 
lately. Many a wild colt has turned out a noble steed. His 
name, I pray you?” 

“ Michael Lambourne,” answered the landlord of the Black 
40 Bear, “a son of my sister’s; there is little pleasure in recol¬ 
lecting either the name or the connexion.” 

“Michael Lambourne!” said the stranger, as if endeav¬ 
ouring to recollect himself, “what, no relation to Michael 





KENILWORTH 


5 


Lambourne, the gallant cavalier who behaved so bravely 
at the siege of Yenlo° that Grave Maurice thanked him at 
the head of the army ? Men said he was an English cavalier, 
and of no high extraction.” 

“ It could scarcely be my nephew,” said Giles Goslings 
“ for he had not the courage of a hen-partridge for aught but 
mischief.” . ,, 

“ Oh, many a man finds courage in the wars, replied the 

stranger. _ , , , 

“It may be,” said the landlord; “but I would have io 
thought our Mike more likely to lose the little he had. 

“ The Michael Lambourne whom I knew,” continued the 
traveller, “was a likely fellow: went always gay and well- 
attired, and had a hawk’s eye after a pretty wench.” 

“Our Michael,” replied the host, “had the look of a dog 15 
with a bottle at its tail, and wore a coat every rag of which 
was bidding good-day to the rest.” 

« Oh, men pick up good apparel in the wars, replied the 

gU “ Our Mike,” answered the landlord, “ was more like to 20 
pick it up in a frippery warehouse, while the broker was 
looking another way; and, for the hawk’s eye you talk of, 
his was always after my stray spoons. He was tapster s 
boy here in this blessed house for a quarter of a year; and 
between misreckonings, miscarriages, mistakes, and mis-25 
demeanours, had he dwelt with me for three months longer, 

I might have pulled down sign, shut up house, and given 
the devil the key to keep.” 

“You would be sorry, after all, continued the traveller, 

“ were I to tell you poor Mike Lambourne was shot at the 30 
head of his regiment at the taking of a sconce near Mae- 

« Sorry! it would be the blythest news I ever heard of 
him since it would ensure me he was not hanged. But let 
him’pass, I doubt his end will never do such credit to his 35 
friends; were it so, I should say (taking another cup ol 
sack), ‘ Here’s God rest him,’ with all my heart. 

“Tush man,” replied the traveller, “never fear but you 
will have credit by your nephew yet, especially if he be the 
Michael Lambourne whom I knew and loved very nearly, 40 
or altogether, as well as myself. Can you tell me no mark 
by which I could judge whether they be the same? 

“ Faith, none that I can think of, answered Giles Gosling, 



6 


KENILWORTH 


“unless that our Mike had the gallows branded on his left 
shoulder for stealing a silver candle-cup from Dame Snort of 
Hogsditch.” 

“ Nay, there you lie like a knave, uncle,” said the stranger, 
5 slipping aside his ruff, and turning down the sleeve of his 
doublet from his neck and shoulder; “ by this good day, my 
shoulder is as unscarred as thine own.” 

“ What, Mike, boy — Mike ! ” exclaimed the host; " and 
is it thou in good earnest? Nay, I have judged so for this 
io half-hour, for I knew no other person would have ta’en 
half the interest in thee. But, Mike, an thy shoulder be 
unscathed as thou sayest, thou must own that Goodman 
Thong, the hangman, was merciful in his office, and stamped 
thee with a cold iron.” 

15 “ Tush, uncle, truce with your jests. Keep them to 

season your sour ale, and let us see what hearty welcome 
thou wilt give a kinsman who has rolled the world around 
for eighteen years; who has seen the sun set where it rises, 
arid has travelled till the west has become the east.” 

20 “Thou hast brought back one traveller’s gift with thee, 

Mike, as I well see; and that was what thou least didst need 
to travel for. I remember well, among thine other qualities, 
there was no crediting a word which came from thy mouth.” 

“Here’s an unbelieving pagan for you, gentlemen!” said 
25 Michael Lambourne, turning to those who witnessed this 
strange interview betwixt uncle and nephew, some of whom, 
being natives of the village, were no strangers to his juvenile 
wildness. “This may be called slaying a Cumnor fatted 
calf for me with a vengeance. But, uncle, I come not from 
30 the husks and the swine-trough, and I care not for thy 
welcome or no welcome; I carry that with me will make me 
welcome, wend where I will.” 

So saying, he pulled out a purse of gold, indifferently well 
filled, the sight of which produced a visible effect upon the 
35 company. Some shook their heads, and whispered to each 
other, while one or two of the less scrupulous speedily began 
to recollect him as a school-companion, a townsman, or so 
forth. On the other hand, two or three grave, sedate- 
looking persons shook their heads, and left the inn, hinting 
40 that, if Giles Gosling wished to continue to thrive, he should 
turn his thriftless, godless nephew adrift again as soon as he 
could. Gosling demeaned himself as if he were much of 
the same opinion; for even the sight of the gold made less 



KENILWORTH 1 

impression on the honest gentleman than it usually doth 

UP ^«nTman h Sic& he said, “put up thy purs- My 
sister’s son shall be called to no reckoning in my house tor 
supper “ lodging; and I reckon thou wilt hardly wish to 5 
stay longer, where thou art e’en but too well known — 
“For that matter, uncle,” replied the traveller I shall 
consult my own needs and conveniences. Meantime, 1 
S to give the supper and sleeping-cup to those good 
townsmef who are not too proud to remember Mike Lam- 10 
bourn” the tapster’s boy. If you will let me have^enter- 

mSSes* walHoThT Hare’ and libor, and I trust our 

hour and shalt e’en have whatever in reason you list to 
n 1. p> u + j would I knew that that purse of thine, 
which thou vapomest of, were as well come by as it seems » 

We “Here d 'is an infidel for you, my good neighboursP’^Md 

Sll “ mv credit friend Mike/ 7 said young Laurence Gold- 

IS likethine, vdth 

ha “I i would n f might trade thither,” said the mercer, chuc- 
kling. 



8 


KENILWORTH 


Why, and so thou mayst,” said Michael; “that is, if 
thou art the same brisk boy who was partner with me at 
robbing the abbot’s orchard: ’tis but a little touch of 
alchemy to decoct thy house and land into ready money 
5 and that ready money into a tall ship, with sails, anchors 
cordage, and all things conforming; then clap thy ware¬ 
house of goods under hatches, put fifty good fellows on 
deck with myself to command them, and so hoise topsails, 
and hey for the New World !” 


10 “ T hou hast taught him a secret, kinsman,” said Giles Gos- 

hng, to decoct, an that be the word, his pound into a 
penny, and his webs into a thread. Take a fool’s advice, 
neighbour Goldthred. Tempt not the sea, for she is a 
devourer Let cards and cockatrices do their worst, thy 
15 father s bales may bide a banging for a year or two, ere thou 
comest to the spital; but the sea hath a bottomless appetite • 
she would swallow the wealth of Lombard Street 0 in a morning 
as easily as I would a poached egg and a cup of clary; and 
for my kinsman’s Eldorado, never trust me if I do not 
2° believe he has found it in the pouches of some such gulls as 
thyself. But take no snuff in the nose about it; fall to and 
welcome for here comes the supper, and I heartily bestow 
it on all that will take share, in honour of my hopeful 
nephew s return, always trusting that he has come home 
25 another man. In faith, kinsman, thou art as like my poor 
sister as ever was son to mother.” 

+1 " N S t » quit - e , S( iu 1ike old Benedict Lambourne her husband, 
though, said the mercer, nodding and winking. “Dost 
thou remember, Mike, what thou saidst when the school- 
3 master s ferule was over thee for striking up thy father’s 
crutches? It is a wise child,’ saidst thou g ‘that knowsIts 
own father. Dr. Bricham laughed till he cried again, and 
his crying saved yours. 

«I “l ';® 11 ’,!' 16 ™ ade it. up to me many a day after,” said Lam- 
35 bourne, and how is the worthy pedagogue? ” 

“Dead,” said Giles Gosling “this many a day since.” 

,, T^ at is, said the clerk of the parish; “I sat by his 
bed the whilst. He passed away in a blessed frame, ‘ Morior 
mortuus sum vel fui — mori°’ — these were his latest 
4 ° words, and he just added, ‘ My last verb is conjugated ’ ” 

ing.’^ el ’ PeaCe be Wlth hlm ” Said Mike > “ he °wes me noth- 
* No > truly,” replied Goldthred; “and every lash which he 




KENILWORTH 


9 


laid on thee, he always was wont to say, he spared the hang- 

mi “ n Dne^ould have thought he left him little to do then,” 
said the clerk; “and yet Goodman Thong had no sinecure 
of it with our friend, after all.” 5 

“ Voto a Dios° !” exclaimed Lambourne, his patience ap¬ 
pearing to fail him, as he snatched his broad slouched hat 
from the table and placed it on his head, so that the shadow 
gave the sinister expression of a Spanish bravo to u e y es 
features which naturally boded nothing pleasant. Har ee, io 
my masters, all is fair among friends, and under the rose, 

Sid I have already permitted my worthy uncle here, and all 
r V ou, to use your pleasure with the frolics of my nonage 
But I carry sword and dagger, my good friends, and can use 
them lightly too upon occasion. I have learned to be 15 
dangerous upon points of honour ever since I served the 
Spaniard, and I would not have you provoke me to the 

de §Why, whaVwordd you do?” said the clerk. 

“Ay sir, what would you do?” said the mercer, bustling so 
1]n on the other side of the table. . 

P “ Slit your throat and spoil your Sunday s quavering, 
sir clerk, said Lambourne, fiercely; “cudgel you, my wor¬ 
shipful dealer in flimsy sarsenets, into one of your own ^ 

ba “ e Come — come,” said the host, interposing, “I will hayc 
no swaggering here. Nephew, it will become you best to 
show no 8 haste to take offence; and you, gentlemen, will do 
well to remember that, if you are in an inn, still you are the 
rntoper” guests, and should spare the honour of his 30 
famfly Tprotest your silly broils make me as oblivious as 
vmirself * for yonder sits my silent guest, as I call him, who 
hath been my two days’ inmate, and hath never spoken a 
word save to ask for his food and his reckoning; gives no 
more’ trouble than a very peasant; pays his shot like a 35 
prince roya ! looks but at the sum total of the reckoning 
?nd doesnot know what day he shall go away. Oh tis 
Tiewel of a guest! and yet? hang-dog that I am, I have 

ShtoMr.as. 

night grows older. 



10 


KENILWORTH 


With his white napkin gracefully arranged over his left 
arm, his velvet cap laid aside for the moment, and his best 
silver flagon m his right hand, mine host walked up to the 

- him the fvpf Ytu m hG m ? 1 ? tl j )ned ^ and thereby turned upon 
5 mm the eyes of the assembled company. F 

a a S?d betwixt twenty-five and thirty, rather 
above the middle size, dressed with plainness and decencv 

an ai S °J e - ase which almost amounted to dignity 

io hfs mnk S hT t nfer that his habit was rather beleath 
with h - co , uate ? ance was reserved and thoughtful, 
with dark hair and dark eyes -— the last, upon any momen- 

other G nr Clte ™ ent u s P a ^ kled with uncommon lustre, but on 
other occasions had the same meditative and tranquil cast 

ftEdn ,hll i‘? k by WS features - The busy curiosity ol 
5 nua itt »? Ua n e ha ^. b ? en employed to discover his name and 
quality, as well as his business at Cumnor; but nothing had 

caS lre rC C v SUh J ect , u hich could lead t0 its gasifi¬ 
cation. Giles Gosling, head-borough of the place and a 

steady friend to Queen Elizabeth and th<? Protestant 

20 1 WaS at °- ne time inclined to aspect guest of being 

«++??• ° r semmar y P^est, of whom Rome and Spain sent 
at this time so many to grace the gallows in England. But 
t was scarce possible to retain such a prepossession against 
a guest who gave so little trouble, paid his r konZ so 

2 S «f| U a m 7, ? nd Wh0 P r °P° sed , as it seemed, to make L fon- 
sideraMe stay at the bonny Black Bear. 

;, a P ists ’” ar gued Giles Gosling, “are a pinching close- 

fh^w^fh and thlS m £ n would have found P a lodging wfth 
the wealthy squire at Bessellsley, or with the old knfght at 
30 Wootton, or m some other of their Roman dens instead of 
hvmg m a house of public entertainment, L every honest 
man and good Christian should. Besides on Fndav hp 
stuck by the salt beef and carrot, though there were as^ood 

35 isis tGhC ° Cked edS ° n the board as ever were ta’en out of the 

no H Romln “tnd^wf/r^if atiSfie< ? himself that his S uest was 

km is® yata* * 

honour with his attention a small collation w“ch he was 


KENILWORTH 


11 


of his house, and the construction which the good people of 

Cumnor might put upon such an unsocial humour. 

“By my faith, sir,” he said, “it touches my reputation 
that men should be merry in my house, and we have ill 
tongues amongst us at Cumnor—as where be there no . 5 

who put an evil mark on men who pull their hat over their 
brows as if they were looking back to the days that are gone, 
instead of enjoying the blythe sunshiny weather which 
God has sent us in the sweet looks of our sovereign mistress, 
Queen Elizabeth, whom Heaven long bless and preserve 10 

“Why, mine host,” answered the stranger, there is no 
treasonf sure, in a man’s enjoying his own thoughts under 
the shadow of his own bonnet? You have lived in the> world 
twiceas long as I have, and you must know there:are thoughts 
that will haunt us in spite of ourselves, and to which it is 5 
in vain to say, ‘ Begone, and let me be merry. , , 

“ By my sooth,” answered Giles Gosling, if such trouble¬ 
some thoughts haunt your mind, and will not get them gone 
for plain English, we will have one of Father Bacon s pupils 
from Oxford to conjure them away with logic and with He¬ 
brew. Or, what say you to laying them m a glorious red sea 
of claret, my noble guest? Come, sir, excuse my fireed ^ 

I am an old host, and must have my talk. I his peevisn 
humour of melancholy sits ill upon you : it suits not with a 
sleek boot, a hat of a trim block, a fresh cloak, and a full 5 
nurse. A pize on it! send it off to those who have their legs 
swathed with a hay-wisp, their heads thatched with a felt 
bonnet their jerkin as thin as a cobweb, and their pouch 
without ever a cross to keep the fiend Melancholy from fane- 
ine in it. Cheer up, sir ! or, by this good liquor, we will ban- 3 
ish thee from the joys of blythesome company into the mists 
of melancholy and the land of little-ease Here be a set 
of good fellows willing to be merry ^ do not scowl on them 

lik ‘‘Yout e afweU?mTworthy I S“st , ’ ; said the guest, with a 35 

melancholy^ smile, which melancholy as itwas^gave a very 

j 0 vfal friend * and they that are moody like myself 

tars 


12 


KENILWORTH 


and consisting chiefly of persons much disposed to profit by 

m T y mea ! at the expensed thei? 
landlord, had already made some inroads upon the limits of 

staS“fter S hTs a nM ident fr T thC ^° ne ia -hich Mcha°J 
5 nquired alter his old acquaintances in the town and the 

Cflp S « S p 0f 1 1 . augl ! t . er with which each answer was received 
G les Gosling himself was somewhat scandalised at the 

SSS? l° US nature of their mirth ^ especially as he involum 
tarily felt some respect for his unknown guest. He paused 

IO “ re > at some distance from the table occupied by these 
licSL 6 ™ 1161 ^ and began t0 make a sort of a P ol °gy for their 

'iUPSli 

frifhf awlftte 1 go°bHn°s“ and & Bible ’ on the ^ to 

bourne, who^lordof Se feast* is'he 8 ?™ 6 Mi ? hael Lam - 
be ruffler as the rest of them?” * h ° SUch a would - 

andTwished"to pltl«e°^ 

me TSiam ” 6 h ° S *’” replied the danger,’“you may call 
“Tressilian I” answered mine host of the Bear, “a worthy 


KENILWORTH 


13 


name, and, as I think, of Cornish lineage 0 ; for what says the 
south proverb: 


By Pol, Tre, and Pen, 

You may know the Cornish men. 


Shall I say the worthy Mr. Tressilian of Cornwall? . 5 

“ Say no more than I have given you warrant for, mine 
host, and so shall you be sure you speak no more than is 
true. A man may Mve one of those* honourable prefixes 
to his name, yet be born far from St. Michael s Mount. 

Mine host pushed his curiosity no farther, but presented 10 
Mr Tressilian to his nephew’s company, who, after exchange 
of salutations, and drinking to the health of their new com¬ 
panion, pursued the conversation m which he found them 
engaged, seasoning it with many an intervening pledge. 


CHAPTER II 


Talk you of young Master Lancelot? 

• Merchant of Venice. 

After some brief interval, Master Goldthred, at the 
earnest instigation of mine host, and the joyous concurrence 
ot his guests, indulged the company with the following morsel 
of melody: 


'Of all the birds on bush or tree, 

Commend me to the owl, 

Since he may best ensample be 
To those the cup that trowl. 

For when the sun hath left the west, 

He chooses the tree that he loves the best 

And he whoops out his song, and he lau ;hs at his jest: 

if 11 though hours be late, and weather foul, 

We 11 drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl. 


15 


The lark is but a bumpkin fowl, 

He sleeps in his nest till morn ; 

But my blessing upon the jolly owl 
That all night blows his horn. ’ 

Then up with your cup till you stagger in speech, 

And match me this catch till you swagger and screech 
And drmk till you wink, my merry men each • 

w 1 lou f s *?e late > and weather be foul. 

We 11 drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl.” 


£ here is savour in thi S , my hearts,” said Michael, when 
S? ,' cer had finished his song, “and some goodness seems 
5 If ^ 8 y °'| 1 yet; l ? ut what a bead-roll you have read me 

of old comrades, and to every man’s name tacked some 

iW.'M" Swashins WiU ° f 

30 “ beSg d sho d t wlthT^bow^ 

Duke s stout park-keeper at Donnington Castle ” ’ • 

14 


KENILWORTH 


15 


“ Ay, ay, he always loved venison well/’ replied Michael, 
“and a cup of claret to boot; and so here’s one to his mem¬ 
ory. Do me right, my masters.” 

When the pnemory of this departed worthy had been duly 
I honoured, Lambourne proceeded to inquire after Prance of 5 
Padworth. 

“ Pranced off — made immortal ten years since,” said the 
mercer; “marry, sir, Oxford Castle and Goodman Thong, 
and a tenpenny-worth of cord, best know how.” 

“ What, so they hung poor Prance high and dry? so much 10 
for loving to walk by moonlight! A cup to his memory, my 
masters; all merry fellows like moonlight. What has be¬ 
come of Hal with the Plume? he who lived near Yattendon, 
and wore the long feather — I forget his name.” 

“What, Hal Hempseed?” replied the mercer, “why, you 15 
may remember he was a sort of a gentleman, and would 
meddle in state matters, and so he got into the mire about the 
Duke of Norfolk’s affair 0 these two or three years since, fled 
the country with a pursuivant’s warrant at his heels, and 
has never since been heard of.” 20 

\ “Nay, after these baulks,” said Michael Lambourne, “I 
need hardly inquire after Tony Foster; for when ropes, and 
'cross-bow shafts, &nd pursuivant’s warrants, and such-like 
gear were so rife, Tony could hardly ’scape them.” 

“ Which Tony Foster mean you ? ” said the innkeeper. 25 

“ Why, he they called Tony Fire-the-Fagot, because he 
brought a light to kindle the pile round Latimer and Ridley, 0 
when the wind blew out Jack Thong’s torch, and no man else 
would give him light for love or money.” 

“ Tony Foster lives and thrives,” said the host. “ But, 30 
kinsman, I would not have you call him Tony Fire-the- 
Fagot, if you would not brook the stab.” 

, “How! is he grown ashamed on’t?” said Lambourne; 
f “why, he was wont to boast of it, and say he liked as well to 
see a roasted heretic as a roasted ox.” 35 

“Ay, but, kinsman, that was in Mary’s time,” replied the 
landlord, “ when Tony’s father was reeve here to the abbot of 
" Abingdon. But since that, Tony married a pure precisian, 
and is as good a Protestant, I warrant you, as the best.” 

I “ And looks grave, and holds his head high, and scorns his 40 
old companions,” said the mercer. 

“Then he hath prospered, I warrant him,” said Lam¬ 
bourne; “for ever when a man hath got nobles of his own 



16 


KENILWORTH 


he keeps out of the way of those whose exchequers lie in 
other men’s purchase.” 

“ Prospered, quotha ! ” said the mercer; “ why, you remem- j 
ber Cumnor Place, 0 the old mansion-house beside the 
5 churchyard ? ” 

“ By the same token, I robbed the orchard three times — 
what of that? It was the old abbot’s residence when there 
was plague or sickness at Abingdon.” ' 

“Ay,” said the host, “but that has been long over; and 
io Anthony Foster hath a right in it, and lives there by some 
grant from a great courtier, who had the church lands from 
the crown; and there he dwells, and has as little to do with 
anv poor wight in Cumnor as if he were himself a belted 
knight.” 

15 “Nay,” said the mercer, “it is not altogether pride in ; 
Tony neither: there is a fair lady in the case, and Tony : 
will scarce let the light of day look on her.” 

“ How !” said Tressilian, who now for the first time inter-. 
fered in their conversation, “did ye not say this Foster was 
20 married, and to a precisian?” 

“ Married he was, and to as bitter a precisian as ever eat 
flesh in Lent; and a cat-and-dog life she led with Tony, as 
men said. But she is dead, rest be with her, and Tony hath 
but a slip of a daughter; so it is thought he means to wed 
25 this stranger, that men keep such a coil about.” 

“ And why so ? I mean, why do they keep a coil about 
her?” said Tressilian. 

“Why, I wot not,” answered the host, “except that men 
say she is as beautiful as an angel, and no one knows whence 
30 she comes, and every one wishes to know why she is kept so 
closely mewed up. For my part, I never saw her; you have, 

I think, Master Goldthred?” 

“That I have, old boy,” said the mercer. “Look you, I 
was riding hither from Abingdon—I passed under the east 
35 oriel window of the old mansion, where all the old saints and 
histories and such-like are painted. It was not the common 
path I took, but one through the park; for the postern door 
was upon the latch, and I thought I might take the privilege 
of an old comrade to ride across through the trees, both for 
40 shading, as the day was somewhat hot, and for avoiding of 
dust, because I had on my peach-coloured doublet, pinked 
out with cloth of gold. ’ 

‘Which garment,” said Michael Lambourne, “thou 







KENILWORTH 


IT 


wouldst willingly make twinkle in the eyes of a fair dame. 

Ah i villain, thou wilt never leave thy old tricks. 

“ Not so — not so,” said the mercer, with a smirking 
laugh— “not altogether so; but curiosity, thou knowest, 
and a strain of compassion withal, for the poor young 5 
lady sees nothing from morn to even but Tony Foster, 
with his scowling black brows, his bull s head, and his bandy 

“ And thou wouldst willingly show her a dapper body, m a 
silken jerkin; a limb like a short-legged hen s, m a cor-10 
dovan boot; and a round, simpering, what-d ye-lack sort 
of a countenance, set off with a velvet bonnet, a Tur ey 
feather, and a gilded brooch? Ah ! jolly mercer, they who 
have good wares are fond to show them! Come, gen 11 ^ 
let not the cup stand —here’s to long spurs, short boots, 15 

full bonnets, and empty skulls!” 

“ Nay, now, you are jealous of me, Mike, said Goldthred, 
“and yet my luck was but what might have happened to 

th “ e M 0 arry ny co“found thine impudence ” retorted Lamboume; 
“thou wouldst not compare thy pudding face and sarsenet 
manners to a gentleman and a soldier ? 

“ Nay, my good sir,” said Tressilian, let me b ® se ® cb y °^ 
will not interrupt the gallant citizen ; methmks he tells his 
tale so well, I could hearken to him till midnight. 5 

“It’s more of your favour than of my desert, answered 
Master Goldthred; “but since I give you pleasure, worthy 
Master Tressilian, I shall proceed, maugre all the gibes and 
quTds of thfs valiant soldier, who, peradventure hath had 
more cuffs than crowns in the Low Countries. And so, sir, 30 
as I passed under the great painted window, leaving my rein 
loose P on my ambling pllfrey’s neck, partly for mine ease and 
partlv that I might have the more leisure to peer about, I 
hears Y me the lattice open; and never credit me, sir, if there 
did not stand there the person of as fair a woman as ever 35 
crossed mine eyes 1 ; and I think I have looked on as many 
pretty wenches, and with as much judgment, as other folks. 

P “Mav I ask her appearance, sir? said Tressilian. 

“Oh Y sir ” replied Master Goldthred, “I promise you, she 
was^in 'gentlewoman’s attire - ,.veryquamtpleasing to 
that might have served the Queen herseii, ior sue 
had a forepart with body and sleeves, of ginger-coloured 
satinfwS in my judgment, must have cost by the yard 




18 


KENILWORTH 


some thirty shillings, lined with murrey taffeta, and laid 
down and guarded with two broad laces of gold and silver. 
And her hat, sir, was truly the best-fashioned thing that I 
have seen in these parts, being of tawny taffeta, embroidered 
5 with scorpions of Venice gold, and having a border garnished 
with gold fringe — I promise you, sir, an absolute and all¬ 
surpassing device. Touching her skirts, they were in the 
old pass-devant fashion.” 

“I did not ask you of her attire, sir,” said Tressilian, who 
io had shown some impatience during this conversation, “ but 
of her complexion, the colour of her hair, her features.” 

“Touching her complexion,” answered the mercer, “I am 
not so special certain; but I marked that her fan had an 
ivory handle, curiously inlaid; and then, again, as to the 
15 colour of her hair, why, I can warrant, be its hue what it 
might, that she wore above it a net of green silk, parcel 
twisted with gold.” 

“A most mercer-like memory,” said Lambourne: “the 
gentleman asks him of the lady’s beauty, and he talks of her 
20 fine clothes!” 

“I tell thee,” said the mercer, somewhat disconcerted, “I 
had little time to look at her; for just as I was about to give 
her the good time of day, and for that purpose had puckered 
my features with a smile-” 

25 “Like those of a jackanape simpering at a chestnut,” 
said Michael Lambourne. 

— “ Up started of a sudden,” continued Goldthred, with¬ 
out heeding the interruption, “ Tony Foster himself, with a 
cudgel in his hand-” 

30 “And broke thy head across, I hope, for thine imperti¬ 
nence, said his entertainer. 

That were more easily said than done,” answered Gold¬ 
thred, indignantly; “ no, no — there was no breaking of 
heads; • it s true, he advanced his cudgel, and spoke of laying 
35 on, and asked why I did not keep the public road, and such¬ 
like; and I would have knocked him over the pate hand¬ 
somely for his pains, only for the lady’s presence, who might 
have swooned, for what I know.” 

“Now, out upon thee for a faint-spirited slave!” said 
40 Lambourne; “ what adventurous knight ever thought of the 
lady s terror when he went to thwack giant, dragon, or 
magician in her presence, and for her deliverance? But 
why talk to thee of dragons, who would be driven back 




KENILWORTH 


19 


io 


by a dragon-fly? There thou hast missed the rarest op- 

P °“Take y it thyself then, bully Mike,” answered Goldthred. 
“Yonder is the enchanted manor, and the dragon, and the 
lady, all at thy service, if thou darest venture on them. 5 
“ Why, so I would for a quartern of sack, said the soldier. 

4 ‘ Or stay—I am foully out of linen—wilt thou bet a piece 
Hollands against these five angels 0 that I go not up to the hall 
to-morrow and force Tony Foster to introduce me to his iair 

^ “I accept your wager,” said the mercer; “and I think, 
though thou hadst even the impudence of the devil, 1 shall 
gain on thee this bout. Our landlord here shall hold stakes, 

and I will stake down gold till I send the linen 

“I will hold stakes on no such matters, said Gosling. 15 
“ Good now, my kinsman, drink your wine in quiet, and let 
such ventures alone. I promise you, Master Foster hath 
interest enough to lay you up m lavender m the castle at 
Oxford, or to get your legs made acquainted with the town- ^ 

St( “°That would be but renewing an old intimacy; for Mike’s 
shins and the town’s wooden pinfold have been well known 
to each other ere now,” said the mercer; but he shall not 
budge from his wager, unless he means to pay forfeit. 

“Forfeit!” said Lambourne; I scorn it. I value Tony 25 
Foster’s wrath no more than a shelled pea-cod; and 1 will 
visit his Lindabrides, 0 by St. George, b f e + ^^ m g ^, n ^ d 
“ I would gladly pay your halves of the risk, sir, said 
Tressilian, “ to be permitted to accompany you on the adven- 

U “ G jn what would that advantage you, sir ? ” answered Lam- 

b0 ”n e nothing, sir,” said Tressilian “ unless to mark; the 
skill and valour with which you conduct yourself. 1 am a 
traveller who seeks for strange rencounters and uncommon 35 
passages) as the knights of yore did after adventures and 

^‘Niy^Hpleasures you to see a trout tickled "answered 
T amhourne “ I care not how many witness my skill. Am 
^ o here I drink success to my enterprise; and he that will not 40 
pledge me on his knees is a rascal, and I will cut his legs off 

^The draught which Michael Lambourne took upon this 


20 


KENILWORTH 


occasion had been preceded by so many others that reason 
tottered on her throne. He swore one or two incoherent 
oaths at the mercer, who refused, reasonably enough, to 
pledge him to a sentiment which inferred the loss of his own 
5 wager. 

“ Wilt thou chop logic with me,” said Lambourne, “thou 
knave, with no more brains than are in a skein of ravelled 
silk? By Heaven, I will cut thee into fifty yards of galloon 
lace! ” 

io But, as he attempted to draw his sword for this doughty 
purpose, Michael Lambourne was seized upon by the tapster 
and the chamberlain, and conveyed to his own apartment, 
there to' sleep himself sober at his leisure. 

The party then broke up, and the guests took their leave; 
15 much more to the contentment of mine host than of some of 
the company, who were unwilling to quit good liquor, when 
it was to be had for free cost, so long as they were able to sit 
by it. They were, however, compelled to remove; and go at 
length they did, leaving Gosling and Tressilian in the empty 
20 apartment. 

“ By m y faith,” said the former, “ I wonder where our 
great folks find pleasure, when they spend their means in 
entertainments, and in playing mine host without sending in 
a reckoning. It is what I but rarely practise; and when- 
25 ever I do, by St. Julian , 0 it grieves me beyond measure. 
Each of these empty stoups now, which my nephew and his 
drunken comrades have swilled off, should have been a 
matter of profit to one in my line, and I must set them 
down a dead loss. I cannot, for my heart, conceive the 
30 pleasure of noise, and nonsense, and drunken freaks, and 
drunken quarrels, and smut, and blasphemy, and so forth, 
when a man loses money instead of gaining by it. And 
yet many a fair estate is lost in upholding such an useless 
course, and that greatly contributes to the decay of publi- 
35 cans; for who the devil do you think would pay for drink 
at the Black Bear, when he can have it for nothing at mv 
lord s or the squire’s?” 

Tressilian perceived that the wine had made some impres- 
S i°- n a even on seasone d brain of mine host, which was 
40 chiefly to be inferred from his declaiming against drunken- 
ness As he himself had carefully avoided the bowl, he 
would have availed himself of the frankness of the moment 
to extract from Gosling some further information upon the 


KENILWORTH 


21 


subject of Anthony Foster, and the lady whom the mercer 
had seen in his mansion-house; but his inquiries only set 
H the host upon a new theme of declamation against the wiles 
of the fair sex, in which he brought, at full length, the whole 
wisdom of Solomon to reinforce his own. Finally, he turned 5 
1 his admonitions, mixed with much objurgation, upon his 
f tapsters and drawers, who were employed in removing the 
^ relics of the entertainment and restoring order to the apart- 
ment; and at length, joining example to precept, though with 
no good success, he demolished a salver with half a score of 10 
glasses, in attempting to show how such service was done at 
I the Three Cranes in the Vintry, then the most topping tavern 
} in London. This last accident so far recalled him to his 
I better self that he retired to his bed, slept sound, and awoke 
a new man in the morning. 15 


CHAPTER III 


Nay, I’ll hold touch, the game shall be play’d out; 

It ne’er shall stop for me, this merry wager. 

That which I say when gamesome, I’ll avouch 
In my most sober mood, ne’er trust me else. 

The Hazard Table. 

“And how doth your kinsman, good mine host?” said 
Tressilian, when Giles Gosling first appeared in the public 
room, on the morning following the revel which we de¬ 
scribed in the last chapter. “Is he well, and will he abide 
5 by his wager ? ” 

For well, sir, he started two hours since, and has visited 
I know not what purlieus of his old companions; hath but 
now returned, and is at this instant breakfasting on new- 
laid eggs and muscadine; and for his wager, I caution you 
10 as a friend to have little to do with that, or indeed with 
aught that Mike proposes. Wherefore, I counsel you to a 
warm breakfast upon a culiss, which shall restore the tone 
of the stomach; and let my nephew and Master Goldthred 
swagger about their wager as they list.” 

15 “ It seems to me, mine host,” said Tressilian, “ that you 

know not well what to say about this kinsman of yours; and 
that you can neither blame him nor commend him without 
some tinge of conscience.” 

“ You have spoken truly, Master Tressilian,” replied Giles 
20 Gosling. There is natural affection whimpering into one 
ear GUes — Giles, why wilt thou take away the good name 
J, f ., th y ° w . n nephew? Wilt thou defame thy sister’s son, 
Giles Gosling? —wilt thou defoul thine own nest, dis- 
honour thine own blood ? ’ And then, again, comes justice, 
5 and says, Here is a worthy guest as ever came to the bonny 

.black bear; one who never challenged a reckoning_as I 

say to your face you never did, Master Tressilian — not 
that you have had cause — one who knows not why he 
came, so far as I can see, or when he is going away and 
30 wilt thou, being a publican, having paid scot and lot°’these 

22 


KENILWORTH 


23- 




thirty years in the town of Cumnbr, and being at this instant 
head-borough 0 — wilt thou suffer this guest of guests, 
this man of men, this six-hooped pot, as I may say, of a 
traveller, to fall into the meshes of thy nephew, who is 
known for a swasher and a desperate Dick, a carder and a 5 
dicer, a professor of the seven damnable sciences, if ever man 
took degrees in them?’ No, by Heaven ! I might wink, and 
let him catch such a small butterfly as Goldthred; but thou, 
my guest, shalt be forewarned, forearmed, so thou wilt but 
listen to thy trusty host.” 10 

“ Why, mine host, thy counsel shall not be cast away,” re¬ 
plied Tressilian; “however, I must uphold my share in this 
wager, having once passed my w T ord to that effect. But lend 
me, I pray, some of thy counsel. This Foster, who or what 
is he, and why makes he such mystery of his female inmate ? ” 15 
“ Troth,” replied Gosling, “ I can add but little to what you 
heard last night. He was one of Queen Mary’s Papists, and 
now he is one of Queen Elizabeth’s Protestants; he was an 
on-hanger of the abbot of Abingdon, and now he lives as 
master of the manor-house. Above all, he was poor and is 20 
rich. Folk talk of private apartments in his old waste man¬ 
sion-house bedizened fine enough to serve the Queen, God 
bless her ! Some men think he found a treasure in the or¬ 
chard, some that he sold himself to the devil for treasure, 0 and 
some say that he cheated the abbot out of the church plate 25 
which was hidden in the old manor-house at the Reformation. 
Rich, however, he is, and God and his conscience, with the 
devil perhaps, besides, only know how he came by it. He 
has sulky ways too, breaking off intercourse with all that are 
of the place, as if he had either some strange secret to keep 30 
or held himself to be made of another clay than we are. I 
think it likely my kinsman and he will quarrel, if Mike thrust 
his acquaintance on him; and I am sorry that you, my 
worthy Master Tressilian, will still think of going in my 
nephew’s company.” 35 

Tressilian again answered him, that he would proceed 
with great caution, and that he should have no fears on his 
account; in short, he bestowed on him all the customary 
assurances with which those who are determined on a rash 
action are wont to parry the advice of their friends. 40 

Meantime, the traveller accepted the landlord’s invitation, 
and had just finished the excellent breakfast which was 
served to him and Gosling by pretty Cicely, the beauty of the 


24 


KENILWORTH 


bar, when the hero of the preceding night, Michael Lam- 
bourne, entered the apartment. His toilet had apparently 
cost him some labour, for his clothes, which differed from 
those he wore on his journey, were of the newest fashion, and 
5 put on with great attention to the display of his person. 

• fai th, uncle,” said the gallant, “you made a wet 

night of it, and I feel it followed by a dry morning. I will 
pledge you willingly in a cup of bastard. How, my pretty 
coz, Cicely! why I left you but a child in the cradle, and 
10 S 161 ? th 2 u stand 1 st in thy velvet waistcoat, as tight a girl as 
England s sun shines on. Know thy friends and kindred, 
Cicely, and come hither, child, that I may kiss thee, and give 
thee my blessing,” 6 

n “h “ 1C * r K„ I J 0t . yol ff' f about Cicely, kinsman,” said Giles 
5 m, g : but e en * et her go her way, a’ God’s name; for 
altho ug h your mother were her father’s sister, yet that 
shall not make you and her cater-cousins.’’ 

• uncle,” replied Lambourne, “ think’st thou I am an 

mndel, and would harm those of mine own house ? ” 

2 ° nn i t )?, io . r no harm that I speak, Mike,” answered his 
TW?’ +u bUt a simple humour of precaution which I have. 
True, thou art as well gilded as a snake when he casts his 
old slough in the spring-time; but for all that, thou creepest 
not into my^Eden. I will look after mine Eve, Mike and 
25 so content thee. But how brave thou be’st, lad ! To look 
on thee now and compare thee with Master Tressilian here 
in his sad-coloured riding-suit, who would not say that thou 
We ^ m the l real gentleman and he the tapster’s boy ? ” 

Troth uncle,” replied Lambourne, “ no one would say so 
3° but one of your country-breeding,, that knows no better I 
will say, and I care not who hears me, there is something 

hn?nV H e K ea i g + en iu y that few men come U P to that are not 
he, W S ° w m y s tery. 1 wot not where the trick 
hes, but although I can enter an ordinary with as much 
35 audacity, rebuke the waiters and drawers as loudly, drink as 
deep a health, swear as round an oath, and fling my gold as 
, ee t y about as any of the jingling spurs and white feathers 
that are around me; yet, hang me if I can ever catch the 
true grace of it, though I have practised an hundred times 
*0 The man of the Louse sets me lowest at the board and 

fWpnrT ,,t0 -T f 6 last; and the drawer says “Comfng 
friend without any more reverence or regardful addition’ 
But, hang it, let it pass; care killed a cak I have gentry 


KENIL WORTH 


25 


enough to pass the trick on Tony Fire-the-Fagot, and that 
will do for the matter in hand.” 

“ You hold your purpose, then, of visiting your old ac¬ 
quaintance ? ” said Tressilian to the adventurer. 

“Ay, sir,” replied Lambourne: “when stakes are made, 5 
the game must be played; that is gamester’s law all over the 
world. You, sir, unless my memory fails me, for I did 
steep it somewhat too deeply in the sack-butt, took some 
share in my hazard ? ” 

“I propose to accompany you in your adventure,” said 10 
Tressilian, “if you will do me so much grace as to permit me; 
and I have staked my share of the forfeit in the hands of our 
worthy host.” 

“That he hath,” answered Giles Gosling, “in as fair 
Harry nobles 0 as ever were melted into sack by a good 15 
fellow. So, luck to your enterprise, since you will needs 
venture on Tony Foster; but, by my credit, you had better 
take another draught before you depart, for your welcome 
at the hall yonder will be somewhat of the driest. And 
if you do get into peril, beware of taking to cold steel; but 20 
send for me, Giles Gosling, the head-borough, and I may be 
able to make something out of Tony yet, for as proud as he is. 

The nephew dutifully obeyed his uncle’s hint, by taking a 
second powerful pull at the tankard, observing, that his wit 
never served him so well as when he had washed his temples 25 
with a deep morning’s draught; and they set forth together 
for the habitation of Anthony Foster. 

The village of Cumnor is pleasantly built on a hill, and in 
a wooded park closely adjacent was situated the ancient 
mansion occupied at this time by Anthony Foster, of which 30 
the ruins may be still extant. The park was then full of 
large trees, and in particular of ancient and mighty oaks, 
which stretched their giant arms over the high wall sur¬ 
rounding the demesne, thus giving it a melancholy, se¬ 
cluded, and monastic appearance. The entrance to the park 35 
lay through an old-fashioned gateway in the outer wall, 
the door of which was formed of two huge oaken leaves, 
thickly studded with nails, like the gate of an old town. 

“We shall be finely holped up here,” said Michael Lam¬ 
bourne, looking at the gateway and gate, “ if this fellow’s 40 
suspicious humour should refuse us admission altogether, 
as it is like he may, in case this linsey-wolsey fellow of a 
mercer’s visit to his premises has disquieted him. But no,” 



26 


KENILWORTH 


he added, pushing the huge gate, which gave way, thf 
door stands invitingly open; and here we are within th 
forbidden ground, without other impediment than the pas 
sive resistance of a heavy oaken door, moving on rust; 

5 stood now in an avenue overshadowed by such o’ 

trees as we have described, and which had been bordered u 
one time by high hedges of yew and holly. But these 
having been untrimmed for many years, had run up intc 
io great bushes, or rather dwarf-trees, and now encroached, 
with their dark and melancholy boughs, upon the road 
which they once had screened. The avenue itself was 
grown up with grass, and in one or two places interrupted 
by piles of withered brushwood, which had been lopped 
15 from the trees cut down in the neighbouring park, and was 
here stacked for drying. Formal walks and avenues, which, 
at different points, crossed this principal approach, were in 
like manner choked up and interrupted by piles of brush¬ 
wood and billets, and in other places by underwood and 
20 brambles. Besides the general effect of desolation which is 
so strongly impressed, whenever we behold the contrivances 
of man wasted and obliterated by neglect, and witness the 
marks of social life effaced gradually by the influence of 
vegetation, the size of the trees and the outspreading extent 
25 of their boughs diffused a gloom over the scene, even when 
the sun was at the highest, and made a proportional im¬ 
pression on the mind of those who visited it. This was felt 
even by Michael Lambourne, however alien his habits were 
to receiving any impressions, excepting from things which 
30 had addressed themselves immediately to his passions. 

“This wood is as dark as a wolfs mouth,” said he to 
Tressilian, as they walked together slowly along the solitary 
and broken approach, and had just come in sight of the mo¬ 
nastic front of the old mansion with its shafted window 
35 brick walls overgrown with ivy and creeping shrubs, an 
twisted stalks of chimneys of heavy stonework. “ And yet, 
continued Lambourne, “it is fairly done On the part o 
Foster too; for since he chooses not visitors, it is right to 
keep his place in a fashion that will invite few to trespass 
40 upon his privacy. But had he been the Anthony I once 
knew him, these sturdy oaks had long since become the 
property of some honest woodmonger, and the manor-close 
here had looked lighter at midnight than it now does at 


KENILWORTH 


27 


noon, while Foster played fast and loose with the price in 
■some cunning corner in the purlieus of Whitefriars. 0 ” 

“Was he then such an unthrift?” asked Tressilian. 

“He was,” answered Lambourne, “like the rest of us, no 
saint, and no saver. But what I liked worst of Tony was, 5 
} tjhat he loved to take his pleasure by himself, and grudged, as 
;? flen say, every drop of water that went past his own mill. 

1 have known him deal with such measures of wine when he 
; was alone as I would not have ventured on with aid of the 
best toper in Berkshire; that, and some sway towards super- 10 
stition, which he had by temperament, rendered him un¬ 
worthy the company of a good fellow. And now he has 
earthed himself here in a den just befitting such a sly fox 
as himself.” 

“May I ask you, Master Lambourne,” said Tressilian, 15 
“since your old companion’s humour jumps so little with 
your own, wherefore you are so desirous to renew acquaint¬ 
ance with him ? ” 

“And may I ask you, in return, Master Tressilian,” an¬ 
swered Lambourne, “ wherefore you have shown yourself so 20 
desirous to accompany me on this party?” 

“I told you my motive,” said Tressilian, “when I took 
share in your wager: it was simple curiosity.” 

“ La you there now ! ” answered Lambourne. “ See how 
you civil and discreet gentlemen think to use us who live by 25 
the free exercise of our wits ! Had I answered your question 
by saying that it was simple curiosity which led me to visit 
my old comrade, Anthony Foster, I warrant you had set it 
down for an evasion and a turn of my trade. But any 
answer, I suppose, must serve my turn.” 3° 

“And wherefore should not bare curiosity,” said Tres¬ 
silian, “be a sufficient reason for my taking this walk with 
you ? ” 

3 “Oh, content yourself, sir,” replied Lambourne; “you 
Cannot put the change on me so easy as you think, for I have 35 
ived among the quick-stirring spirits of the age too long to 
tswallow chaff for grain. You are a gentleman of birth and 
breeding — your bearing makes it good; of civil habits and 
fair reputation — your manners declare it, and my uncle 
avouches it; and yet you associate yourself with a sort of 40 
scant-of-grace, as men call me; and, knowing me to be such, 
you make yourself my companion in a visit to a man whom 
you are a stranger to — and all out of mere curiosity, 





28 


KENILWORTH 


forsooth! The excuse, if curiously balanced, would be 
found to want some scruples of just weight or so.” 

“If your suspicions were just,” said Tressilian, “you haw 
shown no confidence in me to invite or deserve mine.” 

5 “Oh, if that be all,” said Lambourne, “my motives lie 
above water. While this gold of mine lasts,” taking out his 
purse, chucking it into the air, and catching it as it fell, “ [ 
will make it buy pleasure, and when it is out, I must have 
more. Now, if this mysterious Lady of the Manor — this 
io fair Lindabrides of Tony Fire-the-Fagot — be so admirable 
a piece as men say, why, there is chance that she may aid 
me to melt my nobles into groats; and, again, if Anthony be 
so wealthy a chuff as report speaks him, he may prove the 
philosopher’s stone 0 to me, and convert my groats into fair 
15 rose nobles 0 again.” 

“A comfortable proposal truly,” said Tressilian; “but 
I see not what chance there is of accomplishing it.” 

“Not to-day, or perchance to-morrow,” answered Lam¬ 
bourne: “I expect not to catch the old jack till I have dis- 
20 posed my ground-baits handsomely. But I know something 
more of his affairs this morning than I did last night, and I 
will so use my knowledge that he shall think it more perfect 
than it is. Nay, without expecting either pleasure or profit, 
or both, I had not stepped a stride within this manor, I can 
25 tell you; for I promise you I hold our visit not altogether 
without risk. But here we are, and we must make the best 
on’t.” 


While he thus spoke, they had entered a large orchard 
which surrounded the house on two sides, though the trees 
30 abandoned by the care of man, were overgrown and mossy 
and seemed to bear little fruit. Those which had been for¬ 
merly trained, as espaliers 0 had now resumed their natural 
mode of growing, and exhibited grotesque forms, partaking 
of the original training which they had received. The greater 
35 part of the ground, which had once been parterres 0 and 
flower-gardens, was suffered in like manner to run to waste 
excepting a few patches which had been dug up, and planted 
with ordinary pot herbs. Some statues, which had orna¬ 
mented the garden in its days of splendour, were now thrown 
40 down from their pedestals and broken in pieces, and a large 
summer-house, having a heavy stone front, decorated with 
carving, representing the life and actions of Samson, was in 
the same dilapidated condition. 


KENIL WORTH 


2{ 


6- They had just traversed this garden of the sluggard and 
were within a few steps of the door of the maS when 

agr^eaWeTo T ad ^ Sed s P eakin g —a circumstance very 
agreeable to Tressilian, as it saved him the embarrassment 

; r whi^ h m-s C nr?r^ entmg n P ? n - ° r to the frank avowal 5 

w . hlch his companion had just made of the sentiments and 
^ views which induced him to come hither Lambourne 
knocked roundly and boldly at the huge door of the mansion 
observing, at the same time, he had seen a less strong; one 

tha°n a on°ce n thi? Wa i n0t Untdthey had kn °cked more 10 

no?tved thpm th tm \ agGd ’ ® our_vlsa S e d domestic recon- 
5 them through a small square hole in the door well 
secured with bars of iron, and demanded what they wanted 
To speak with Master Foster instantly, on pressing busi- 

ne ^ t ^f ate ’ Wa -n t « e !f < ^ yreplyof Michae ^Lambourne. i', 
ssnVI^ki i y . ou Wi ' 1 . flnd difficulty to make that good,” 
said Tressilian in a whisper to his companion, while the ser- 
vant went to carry the message to his master. 

lush, replied the adventurer; "no soldier would go on 
were he always to consider when and how he should come so 
enough” US ° nCG ° btam entrance > and all will go well 

In a short time the servant returned, and drawing with a 
^f^l k f nd both bolt and bar, opened the gate, which ad- 
mitted them through an archway into a square court, sur- 2c 
rounded by buildings. Opposite to the arch was another 
door, which the serving-man in like manner unlocked, and 
thus introduced them into a stone-paved parlour, where 
there was but little furniture, and that of the rudest and 
most ancient fashion. The windows were tall and amble 
reanhmg almost to the roof of the room, which was composed 
of black oak; those opening to the quadrangle were <5b- 
scured by the height of the surrounding buildings, and, as 
they were traversed with massive shafts of solid stonework 
and thickly painted with religious devices and scenes taken 35 
from Scripture history, by no means admitted light in pro¬ 
portion to their size; and what did penetrate through them 
partook of the dark and gloomy tinge of the stained glass. 

iressilian and his guide had time enough to observe all 
these particulars, for they waited some space in the apart- 40 
ment ere the present master of the mansion at length made 
h!s appearance. Prepared as he was to see an inauspicious 
and ill-looking person, the ugliness of Anthony Foster con- 



30 


KENILWORTH 


siderablv exceeded what Tressilian had anticipated. He was 
of middle stature, built strongly, but so clumsily as to 
border on deformity, and to give all his motions the ungainly 
awkwardness of a left-legged and left-handed man. His 
5 hair in arranging which men at that time, as at present, 
were very nice and curious, instead of being carefully cleaned 
and. 6 disposed into short curls, or else set up on end, as is 
represented in old paintings, in a manner resembling that 
used by fine gentlemen of our own day, escaped m sable 
io negligence from under a furred bonnet, and hung m elf- 
locks which seemed strangers to the comb, over his rugged 
brows, and around his very singular and unprepossessing 
countenance. His keen dark eyes were deep set beneath 
broad and shaggy eyebrows, and as they were usually bent 
x e on the ground, seemed as if they were themselves ashamed 
of the expression natural to them, and were desirous to 
conceal it from the observation of men. At times, however, 
when more intent on observing others, he suddenly raised 
them and fixed them keenly on those with whom he con- 
2 o versed, they seemed to express both the fiercer passions and 
the power of mind which could at will suppress or disguise 
the intensity of inward feeling. The features which cor¬ 
responded with these eyes and this form were irregular, and 
marked so as to be indelibly fixed on the mmd of him who 
25 had once seen them. Upon the whole, as Tressilian could 
not help acknowledging to himself, the Anthony Foster who 
now stood before them was the last person, judging from 
personal appearance, upon whom one would have chosen 
to intrude an unexpected and undesired visit. His attire 
30 was a doublet of russet leather, like those worn by the 
better sort of country folk, girt with a buff belt, in which 
was stuck on the right side a long knife, or dudgeon dagger 
and on the other a cutlass. He raised his eyes as he entered 
the room, and fixed a keenly penetrating glance upon his 
35 two visitors, then cast them down as if counting his steps, 
while he advanced slowly into the middle of the room, and 
said, in a low and smothered tone of voice: “Letme pray 
you, gentlemen, to tell me the cause of this visit.” 

He looked as if he expected the answer from Tressilian; so 
4 ° true was Lambourne’s observation, that the superior air of 
breeding and dignity shone through the disguise of an 
inferior dress. But it was Michael who replied to him, with 
the easy familiarity of an old friend, and a tone which 


KENILWORTH 


31 


seemed unembarrassed by any doubt of the most cordial 
reception. . , anA in(r i P o Tony Foster!” he ex- 

“Hal m 7. dear f "® n ? h e umvflliig hand, and shaking it 
claimed, seizing upon . 1a ?„ e r the sturdy frame of 5 

with such emphasis as almost to stagg^ (areg ;t ^ you for 
the person whom he addressed ^ you altogether forgotten 
many a long year. W , ' [( , Uow ' Michael Lambourne? 
your friend, gossip, and p y Foster looking at him a mo- 
“ Michael Lambourne .sa d ’ with little ceremony 


* “ Michael Lambourne i^said tester, ^^Ue ceremony xo 
ment; then dropp 8 friendly grasp of the person by 

extricating his hand from (t vou Mi c hael Lambourne? 

^Ty^sure as you are Anthony Foster,” replied Lam- 
b °”Ti’s well,” answered his sullen host; “and what may x S 

expected a better 

welcome than I am like to meet, >j _ thou friend 
“Why, thou gailows-bird-ttioujau „ hast20 

of the hangman and his oust tenance £rom any one 

thou the assurance to exp’ 4 ( a Tyburn tippet” ? 

whose neck is beyond the compass r Lambourne; 

“It may be with me ^ you say ^p^^ pe 

“and suppose I grant it.to be ient friend Anthony 25 

still good^“TVough heb“ for the present, by some 

Fire-the-Fagot, though ne , mnQr Place .” 

indescribable title, the mast sa idFoster; “youarea 

“ Hark you, Michael Lambourn^ q{ chances . Corn- 

gambler now, and live by the cou g t throw you3 o 

visitor. t tyth v vou?” demanded Anthony 

“ And wherefore, 1 pray ressing his Ups, like one 35 

Foster, setting his t^J^ Mme P violent internal emotion, 
who endeavours to suPP r ®*“coolly, “you dare not for 

“ Because,” said Lambourne^ ^ e / and stronger than 
your life lay a finger onme lamy B the fighting devil, 

p “ 

their porridge, as the stage p y Y 




32 


KENILWORTH 


Paced the ro^orn^t wi ce * wil^ thp S ^’ th f n turned away, and 
pace with which he had eutered^t • ?h dy “d considerate 

5 «fc d ex *ended his hand to Miotae/Llmhn^ 611 ^ c ? me 
5 Be not wroth with me good Mill t ,7-^ hourne ’ sa yrog: 
thou hadst parted with aught ^AhiriP nU bUt Jl y wheth «* 

s. —„o , -v , ,, roust carry throue-h thp 


io“it 

us 


;t fa the eommodi tywe rmjst^carrv^h La ”bourne, 

Udsdaggers 0 f I teh thp^ m y through the world with 
ance was too small to tradl^on^l’wi”? 0 "* Stockof a ®ur- 

™^°e of°tfe? at!! ^ ^ £ 

esty, yot n saTled r hence i^Mlas^^W 8 f r< ?P ies and mod- 
honest Mike ? Is he a Pnrio th • But who ls this gallant 

20 “I prithee, know Master T r i a “,~ a e ut ter» like thyself?”’ 

Lambourne, presenting hisfriWd in Jn Uly F ? st f” replied 

question — “know him and hol,,^ ? ?' t° his fri end’s 
man of many admirable qualities • and th’ 1S a gentle- 

in my line of business, at least’so f» thou g h , he traffics not 
2 5neyerthdess, a just respect and admSti™ f kn0 ^ he haa > 
class. He will come to in time as Jm ‘ artlsts of °ur 
he is only a neophyte, only a oroseh/tl?™ f j 1 ? ’ ,ut as yet 
company of cocks of the game P asl^’ “t fre quents the 

30 theTeachers* of defence ” t0 866 h ° W a f °^ handled *by 

in an- 

in\his ap^r^nent r *a n d^wlthoutl’ 1 ^ 

35 ‘b^ressffian^acijies d e d e ^Jd™g d ^ k ™ kela igbt of 6 arranger*” 


CHAPTER IV 


Not serve two masters? Here’s a youth will try it 
Would fain serve God, yet give the devil his due; 
Savs grace before he doth a deed of villainy, 

And returns his thanks devoutly when tis acted.^ 


The room into which the master of Cumnor Place con- 
ducted his worthy visitant was of greater extent than that m 
which they had at first conversed, and had yet more the 
Appearance of dilapidation. Large oaken presses, filled 
with shelves of the same wood, surrounded the room, and 5 
had, at one time, served for the arrangement pf a numerous 
collection of books, many of which yet remained, but torn 
and defaced, covered with dust, deprived of their costly 
clasps and bindings, and tossed together m heaps upon the 
shelves, as things altogether disregarded, and abandoned 10 
to the Pleasure of every spoiler. The very presses themselves 
seemed to have incurred the hostility of those enemies o 
learning, who had destroyed the volumes with which they 
W been heretofore filled. They were, m several places, 
dismantled of their shelves, and otherwise broken and dam- 15 
aged, and were, morever, mantled with cobwebs and covered 

Wi “The men who wrote these books,” said Lambourne, look¬ 
ing round him, “little thought whose keeping they were to ^ 

fa *“ Nor what yeoman’s service they were to do me,” qu°*h 
A pr • “ the cook hath used them for scouring 

hfe 1 pewter, and the groom hath had nought else to clean 

Andy^” 1 said Lambourne, “ I have been in cities where 25 
such learned commodities would have been deemed too good 

for <<A^^pshaw,” answered Foster, “they are Popish 

£ roL nf them — private studies of the mumping 
old S abbot of Abingdon. The nineteenthly of a pure Gospel 30 

33 



34 


KENILWORTH 


sermon were worth a cart-load of such rakings of the kennel 
of Rome.” 

“ Gad-a-mercy, Master Tony Fire-the-Fagot! ” said Lam- 
bourne, by way of reply. 

5 Foster scowled darkly at him, as he replied: “ Hark ye, 
friend Mike; forget that name, and the passage which it re¬ 
lates to, if you would not have our newly-revived comrade- i 
ship die a sudden and a violent death.” 

“ Why,” said Michael Lambourne, “ you were wont to glory ■ 
io in the share you had in the death of the two old heretical 
bishops.” 

“That,” said his comrade, “was while I was in the gall of 
bitterness and bond of iniquity, and applies not to my walk : 
or my ways now that I am called forth into the lists. Mr. 

15 Melchisedek Maultext compared my misfortune in that 
matter to that of the Apostle Paul, 0 who kept the clothes of 
the witnesses who stoned St. Stephen. He held forth on 
the matter three Sabbaths past, and illustrated the same 
by the conduct of an honourable person present, meaning 
20 me.” 

“I prithee peace, Foster,” said Lambourne; “for, I know 
not how it is, I have a sort of creeping comes over my skin 
when I hear the devil quote Scripture; and besides, man, 
how couldst thou have the heart to quit that convenient old 
25 religion, which you could slip off or on as easily as your 
glove? Do I not remember how you were wont to carry 
your conscience to confession, as duly as the month came j 
round? and when thou hadst it scoured, and burnished, and 1 
whitewashed by the priest, thou wert ever ready for the ! 
30 worst villainy which could be devised, like a child who is i 
always readiest to rush into the mire when he has got his 
Sunday’s clean jerkin on.” 

^ “Trouble not thyself about my conscience,” said Foster, 
“it is a thing thou canst not understand, having never had 1 
35 one of thine own. But let us rather to the point, and say to I 
me, in one word, what is thy business with me, and what j 
hopes have drawn thee hither ? ” 

“ The hope of bettering myself, to be sure,” answered Lam- [ 
bourne, “as the old woman said, when she leapt over the j 
40 bridge at Kingston. Look you, this purse has all that is left 
of as round a sum as a man would wish to carry in his slop- 
pouch. You are here well established, it would seem, and, 
as I think, well befriended, for men talk of thy being under 



KENILWORTH 


35 


WSMssssm 

engross the whole work rather tha p f ess bursts the 10 
be not over-greedy, Anthony ^etousnes^bu^^ 

sack and spills the grain. , him more dogs than one. 

goes to kill a stag, he ^.^^““the wounded buck 
He has the stanch lyine , , def .,, gaze-hound to 

over hill and dale, but he hath also the fleet g ^ ^ gaze . I$ 

kill him at view. Thou art ] t J , aid f both, and can 
hound, and thy patron wl1 ' ne ® d h ™ sag acitV, an un¬ 

well afford to requite it. Jh ou lo ^ re athe d ^"malignity of 
relenting purpose, a steady, long u j ^ the bo ider, 
nature, that surpasses nun \ fh . ac tion and expedient. 20 
the quicker, the more :ready !unite them, 

S’itir.K’ras™ 

we hunt in couples? thrust thyself upon my 

courtesy,” said ¥ lc ^ a ^ a ^ t h e romance has it. I will 
well from me, sir knight as the them ; for I have 3 ° 

either share your counsel.or^itthee” 
come here to be busy, eithe t th S 0U dost leave me 

“ Weil, said Anthony Foster, ^ friend than th 

so fair a choice, I will f thee to the service of a 

enemy. Thou art right. I can pr f ™ ake ug both and an 35 

patron who has ^^^^uth, thou art well qualified 
hundred more. And, dexterity he demands — the 

for his service. Boldness and aV our • no starting at 

justice-books bear ^ witness u1 Y ^ sugpected thee of a 
scruples in his service y> , have who would follow 40 

conscience? ^ impenetrable as a Milan 

vis^ Ttoe"s buYone thing I would fain see amended m 

thee.” 



36 


KENILWORTH 


replied Lambourne^foflswpfl friend An thony?” 
S1 “ e Whv° 1 Wi “ n °‘ be slothfuI ^ amln e di P ng 0 H” 0f ^ SeVen 
S “ Your speech twlngs too much of tlfoW^” ^ Foster ' 

deboshed and irregular tn k 0 rnan is altogether too 
followers, since Kas" repuSn tTl ° f Hs . lordsh iP’s 
io of the world. You must sotSpwW \ keep up ln the eye 
a more grave and c^mnosed^S ref ° rm your dress > upon 
both shoulders, and your fallinh Wear your cloak on 
starched. You mu s reLarie g fhp. unr ™pled and well 
and diminish the superfluitv nf & ^ nn } of y° ur beaver, 
15 church, or, which will hp + your trunk-hose: go to 

month; potestonly at leasi once a 

aside your swashing look aifd^pip ^! 1 and conscience; lay 

bourne “ and hast described rathe? th^’t'l answered Lam- 
Puritan’s wife than the followw ?f a n S? an ' Usher to a 
Yes such a thing as thou wouldst makp a f mbltl ons courtier ! 
book at his girdle 0 instpnd pf most make of me should wear a 

*5 pected of mUood?nou 1 h 0 to% P q X?a’nr n n d S 

the lecture at St. Antonlin’s 0 ?ni pr ° ud dame-citizen to 
any flat-capp’d thread maker tha^wnn 1 / n \ er cause with 
He must ruffle it in another sort tw d ta J e the wall of her. 
a nobleman’s train.’’ S ° rt that would walk to court in 

since you knew th^English world F a^d^h' there is a chan S e 
can hold their way through the boldpi herG are tilose who 

most secret, and yet never I swa^erW S C 2 Urses > and th e 

„ ffe,« in i hdr !* W °' 4 " “ ““>■ « 

“ p isr r'- * «• 

his name m the firm ? Well T win fJ without mentioning 
rather than lose ground in this new wor?J GSt ^counterfeit, 
is grown so precise. But, Anthonv tbou sa yest it 

40 nobl cman, in whose service I am to tnn if the name of this 


KENILWORTH 


37 


there is such a person in rerum "/ t ^ d ? * at 1 h * VB “* 
been putting a jape° upon you^^“en-brained gull?” 

“Thou put a jape on me, thou “ w hy, dark and 

answered Lambourne, J[ f x would engage in a day’s 5 

muddy as thou think . st thys ’and thy concernments, as 

thoucllVst them? as through the filthy horn of an old stable 
la At r t^s moment their conversation was interrupted by a ^ 
scream from the next apar^gent. exclaimed Anthony 

R ;g,»• -> ■» * 

i» r h i s* 1 “" 

scream issued, ^^^chinterrupted their conversation 
account for the Bounds which unterr .P ^ narrative . 

it is necessary to , re n C ^ observed that, when Lambourne ac- 
It has been already observe , Tressilian alone 

companied Foster into the hbrary, ™ y foUowed them forth 
in the ancient parlour. ^ of conte mpt, a part of which 
of the apartment with a gia himself for having stooped 
Ms miniinstantlytransfeSeir fa“companiom “These 
to be even for a moment th^ thug he com m U ned with 

are the associates,. Amy , levity thine unthinking and 5 

himself — t° 7' t hl , c L*L has condemned him of whom his 
most unmerited falsehoo , as ^ ; a nd who now scorns 
friends once hoped fa others for the baseness he 

himself, as he will be scorned le ave the pur- 

Stoops to for the love of thee I &nd mogt devoted 3° 

suit of thee, once the object of my p forth be nothing 

affection, though to me thou canst^n^ ^ from thy be- 

but a thing to weep over, i restorg thee t0 thy parents— 
trayer Gor'ltnnot bi“br|S sta? a°gain sparkle in ^ 

the sphere it has shot fr0 ™> bl \ inte rrupted his reverie; he 
A slight noise in the apartment richly-attired female 

looked round, , a ?A by a side door he recognised the 

who entered at that msta t^>y . mpulge arising from thisdis- 
object of his search. , • f ace with the collar of 1 

covery urged him c ^ c d a favo urable moment of making 
cloak, until he should fin e was disconcerted by the 

young f la“e w^s not eighteen years old), who ran 





KENILWORTH 


playfully: 0 “Nay.tyswat friend 8 aff b , y j, the cloak - said 
you so long, you come not after 1 have waited for 

You are arraigned of treason to^tnfJi 61 * t0 pl ? y the mas quer. 
5 and you must stand up at the bar* and* and f ° n - d affection ; 

sa X l ou ’ r? wer “ with fa - 

tone, as he sufferedhtr’to Xawthe m l0 fl a ? d melan <*oly 

IO Jhe sound of his voice, a^d ^1^ fr ° m his face - 

IO his face, changed in an instant unex Pected sight of 

staggered back, P la ^ mood. She 

before her face. Tressilia^wn^n-^S 1 V and P ut her hands 
overcome, but seeming suddenly for u a moment much 

of using an opportunity which nhe-ht n r ? eml:> . er the necessity 
ln “ Wh^T 6 • “ Am y/fear me not” aSam ° ccur > he sai ^ 

hands from‘her b^S'fMe^rhi^ 6 ^’ withdra wing her , 
crimson — "why should K, wa f now covered with 
wherefore have you intruded v/° U ’,r Mr ' T ressilian? or 
» unrated sir, and unwis^d for?" S6lf mto "^.dwelling, 

prison your dwelf] ., n Amy!” said Tressilian. "Alas! is a 
a of ^ but ! 

to inhabit°t Se If “K/pit^Se to I,— 6 while 1 ehoose i 
Shall gamsay me? » ' p sure to live m seclusion, who 

brokentoeartecffatlTer^who r |pJ 1S 'I e r ed I Tressilian — “y our 

3 ° with that authority which he ramlf 1 * in quest of you ! 
is h ls letter, written wide he C Sf* “ Person. Here 
somewhat stunned the a|ony ofMs° f bod y which , 

"The paml is my father then ill ™“aid the , d 
00 ill, answered Tressilian “Vn + d the lad y- 

stantlif 18,7 not i es tore him to health hnT en n y0 u Ur , utmost 
stantly prepared for your denartore tu • . a11 sha11 be in- 
!}rf lve con sent.” Parture the instant you yourself 

-a^sSsSSs^VsrsiB} i 

hap”y.-happ^couid’iSS tel1 him “am Wdl h I°am j 
fear that 1 wiu 


KENILWORTH 


39 


grief Amy has given him shall be forgotten — the poor Amy 
is now greater than she dare name. Go, good Tressilian; 

I have injured thee too, but believe me I have power to heal 
the wounds I have caused: I robbed you of a childish heart, 
which was not worthy of you, and I can repay the loss with 5 
honours and advancement.’’ 

“ Do you say this to me, Amy ? Do you offer me pageants 
of idle ambition for the quiet peace you have robbed me of ? 
But be it so — I came not to upbraid, but to serve and to 
free you. You cannot disguise it from me — you are aio 
prisoner. Otherwise your kind heart — for it was once a 
kind heart —would have been already at your father s 
bed-side. Come, poor, deceived, unhappy maiden. All 
shall be forgot — all shall be forgiven. Fear not my 
importunity for what regarded our contract; it was a 15 
dream, and I have awaked. But come; your father yet 
lives. Come, and one word of affection — one tear 01 
penitence, will efface the memory of all that has passed. 

“ Have I not already said, Tressilian,” replied she that 
I will surely come to my father, and that without farther 20 
delav than is necessary to discharge other and equally 
binding duties? Go, carry him the news. I come as sure 
as there is light in heaven — that is, when I obtain per- 

ml “Permission! — permission to visit your father on his 25 
sick-bed, perhaps on his death-bed!” repeated Tressilian 
impatiently; “and permission from whom? From the 
villain who, under disguise of friendship, abused every du y 
of hospitality, and stole thee from thy father s roof! 

“ Do him no slander, Tressilian ! He whom thou speakest 3 
of wears a sword as sharp as thine — sharper, vain man; tor 
the best deeds thou hast ever done m peace or war were as 
unworthy to be named with his as thy obscure rank to 
match itself with the sphere he moves m. Leave me 1 Do, 
do mine errand to my father, and when he next sends to me, 35 

let him choose a more welcome messenger. 

“Amy,” replied Tressilian, calmly, thou canst not 
move me by thy reproaches. . Tell me one thing, that I may 
bear at least one ray of comfort to my aged friend. This 
rank of his which thou dost boast — dost thou share it with 40 
him, Amy? Does he claim a husbands right to control 

“ Stop thy base, unmannered tongue! ” said the lady; to 



40 


KENILWORTH 


no question that derogates from my honour do I deign an 
answer.” 

“You have said enough in refusing to reply,” answered 
Tressilian; “and mark me, unhappy as thou art, I am 
5 armed with thy father's full authority to command thy 
obedience, and I will save thee from the slavery of sin and 
of sorrow, even despite of thyself, Amy.” 

“ Menace no violence here ! ” exclaimed the lady, drawing : 
back from him, and alarmed at the determination expressed * I 
io in his look and manner: “ threaten me not, Tressilian, for I 
have means to repel force.” 

But not, I trust, the wish to use them in so evil a cause ? ” 
said Tressilian. “ With thy will — thine uninfluenced, free, 
and natural will, Amy, thou canst not choose this state of 
15 slavery and dishonour: thou hast been bound by some spell 
— entrapped by some deceit — art now detained by some 
compelled vow.. But thus I break the charm: Amy in 
the name of thine excellent, thy broken-hearted father, I 
command thee to follow me!” 

20 As he spoke, he advanced and extended his arm, as with 
the purpose of laying hold upon her. But she shrunk 
back from his grasp, and uttered the scream which, as we 
before noticed, brought into the apartment Lambourne and 
Foster. 


25 The latter exclaimed, as soon as he entered: “ Fire and 
fagot ! what have we here?” Then addressing the lady, 
m a tone betwixt entreaty and command, he added: “ Uds 
precious! madam, what make you here out of bounds? 
Retire —retire; there is life and death in this matter. 
30 And you, friend, whoever you may be, leave this house: 
out with you, before my dagger’s hilt and your costard 
become acquainted. Draw, Mike, and rid us of the knave ! ” 
011 m y soul,” replied Lambourne; “he came 
hither in my company, and he is safe from me by cutter’s 
35 law, at least till we meet again. But hark ye, my Cornish 
comrade, you have brought a Cornish flaw of wind with you 
hither — a hurncanoe as they call it in the Indies. Make 
yourself scarce — depart — vanish, or we’ll have you 
summoned before the Mayor of Halgaver, 0 and that before 
40 Dudman and Ramhead meet. 

“ Away, base groom! ” said Tressilian. “ And you, madam, 

lelv/iL Li7 hat life T li ? gerS in your Cher's bosom wil 
leave him at the news I have to tell.” 



KENILWORTH 


41 


He departed, the lady saying faintiy as he left the room: 
“Tressilian, be not rash ~ ^fd^o^ter & “ I pray you go to 

■>?'** “ , 

“Nay, but you must, fair iady, P thig - g no time to 
my freedom, must cr 0 to your chamber. Mike, 

follow C that^ S meddling coxcomb, a^, as you desire^ o xo 

- *'» 

hi "‘'i'ii follow s .: >-j »«I—; “zi r£~. 

«ed the first 

overgrown park m which led pi s steps astray, and, 

ated. Haste and dis which led towards the village, 

instead of taking the , h e had pursued it for some 

«” eisp ssri .i 

through the°wall, and led mto the ^»g“££ t to him by 

but it was probable that the postern u 3Q 

retreat by that pass X™t h“wevS/’\e said to himself; 

“ I must make the attemp , logt — this miserable — 

“the only means of reclaiming • ^ — mus t rest m 

this still most lovely "ost unhappy grr ^ count } 

?0 PP :pprTse th him of this heartrending mtelh -35 
g Xi’ressilian, thus 

try some means of openrag t do from the outside. 

perceived there was a key putmto^he^ & h en- 4 ° 

It turned round, the bo' , k and wearing a slouched hat 
tered, n \ uffled . ^ leather S stood at once within four yards of 
^ h : h tTrli"of going out. They exclauned at 





42 


KENILWORTH 


once, in tones of resentment and surprise, the one “ Varnev !” 
the other “ Tressilian ! ” J 

“What make you here?” was the stern question put by 
the stranger to Tressilian, when the moment of surprise was 
5 past — what make you here, where your presence is neither 
expected nor desired?” 

“Nay, Varney,” replied Tressilian, “what make you 
here? Are you come to triumph over the innocence you 

to h«f+tTT deStr ?? ed / a l the u vulture or carrion-crow comes to 
io batten on the lamb, whose eyes it has first plucked out? 
Or are you come to encounter the merited vengeance of an 
honest man? Draw, dog, and defend thyself!” 

1 •^ I i?- SS1 il ian T drew L his sword as he spoke ; but Varney only 
« ^ ld H hl T r p« a ? ° n th r Mt of his own > as he re Plied: “ Thou art 
5 ™ nn+h lllan *- l OWn a PP earances are against me, but by 
every oath a priest can make, or a man can swear, Mistress 
Amy Robsart hath had no injury from me; and in truth I 

know’stT 6 can. a fight! ” t0 hurt y ° U in this cause - Tho « 
20 u , ^ have heard thee say so, Varney,” replied Tressilian* 
than S 2 “* h "« t***® evidence 

5 ™ ght hand, he threw his cloak around his left, and attacked 
Tressilian with a vigour which, for a moment, seemed to give 
him the advantage of the combat. But this advantage 
lasted not long Tressilian added to a spirit determined on 
revenge a hand and eye admirably well adapted to the use 
30 ? f S e rapier; so that Varney, finding himself hard pressed 
m his turn, endeavoured to avail himself of his superior 
strength, by closing with his adversary. For this purpose 
he hazard the receiving one of Tressilian’s passes in h^ 
cloak, wrapt as it was around his arm, and ere his adve?sarv 
35 could extricate his rapier thus entangled, he closed with 
him, shortening his own sword at the same time with the 

S 0Se a „°i nn e r tC t 5 r S „ h - im - P ut Tressilian w’as on his 
guard and, unsheathing his poniard, parried with the blade 
of that weapon the home-thrust which would otherwise 
4 ° have finished the combat, and, in the strug^e wMch 
foliowed displayed so much address as might have con¬ 
firmed the opinion that he drew his origin from Cornwall 
whose natives are such masters in the art of wrestling as’ 





KENILWORTH 


43 


were the games ot antiquity , re ^’“‘f \° ‘u^sed 
challenge all Europe ring. Y, that his 

attempt, received a fall so sudden ana ^ ^ hg could 

fllftotThL antagonist was pointed to hiss 

throat. . j. nT ,i mpnnq r>f relieving the victim of thy 

tre SS,”Sd t“ 5S «*•“ “ k I0 " r 

made a sudden effort to arise h advers y the blow 

arm, and 5 of Mkhael Lambourne., who, 

JrIcteTby th b e y cfalin g of swords, had come up just m ^ 

enough done, and moree^lack Bear growls for us.” 
and let us be jogging. The Black B 8 himse lf free of 

me and2 ° 

Abject— abject>” ‘^ck has 

be answered with cold steel when ht that w e had 

-i out « shos ° - trarap - 25 

regain his weapon, and Tressihanp oddg He took hls 

to press the quarrel f^er^amst^s ^ ^ flung 30 

purse from his side, caitiff, is thy morning wage. 

ss saws A ei h ±x iA ^t 

LTeTetwixrll^ So »yin g , he turned round, and de-^ 
parted through the postern doo. ^ per haps the 

Varney seemed to want the mcmanui, hig re _ 

power, for his fall had kg^areddarkly a g he disappeared, 

‘‘Arl thou a comrade of ^ 

F0 4wom S frfendt°a W s the haft is to the knife,” replied Mi- 
^Herelfabroad piece.for thee; follow yonder fellow, and 



44 


KENILWORTH 


see where he takes earth, and bring me word up to the i mi” 

X^"hroat“ US and Sil6nt ’ th0U knave - - 

•Sstrx ss&r* *■ » *- «■? 

Begone, then,” said Varney, sheathing his rani o j 
toward® the house 0 Mi ° hael Lamboum ’ he walkfc ' 


r 5 It rains noblesT by Heaven they lie on ° ld Englar ' 
dewdrops; you may have them for gathering An^ if I ha 
meltTike S an?cie°lef” Ch glltterin S dewdrops, may my swora 



CHAPTER V 


w 
8 ‘ 


5-^rs vty 

b' He was a man 

Versed in the world as pilot in his compass. 

1 i The needle pointed ever to that interest 

Which was his loadstar, and he spread his sails 
With vantage to the gale of others’ passion. 

The Deceiver, a Tragedy. 


\nthony Foster was still engaged in debate with his fair 
1 who treated with scorn every entreaty and request 
she would retire to her own apartment, when a whistle 
_ heard at the entrance door of the mansion. 

“We are fairly sped now,” said Foster; yonder is thy 5 
lord’s signal, and what to say about the disorder which has 
happened in this household, by my conscience I know not. 
Some evil fortune dogs the heels of that unhanged rogue 
amboume, and he has ’scaped the gallows against every 
oiiance, to come back and be the ruin of me . io 

“Peace, sir,” said the lady, “and undo the gate to your 
master. My lord! — my dear lord!” she then exclaimed, 
hastening to the entrance of the apartment; Hien added, 
with a voice expressive of disappointment. Pooh! it is 

but Richard Varney.” i 15 

“Av madam,” said Varney, entering and saluting the 
lady with a respectful obeisance, which she returned with & 
careless mixture of negligence and of displeasure it is 
but Richard Varney; but even the first grey cloud should be 
acceptable, when it lightens in the east, because it announces 20 

the approach of the blessed sun.” . , , , , . 

« How ! comes my lord hither to-night? said the lady, m 
joyful yet startled agitation; and Anthony Foster caught up 
the word, and echoed the question. Varney replied to the 
lady, that his lord purposed to attend her, and would have 25 
proceeded with some compliment, when, running to the 
door of the parlour, she called aloud: Janet Janet, 

come to my tiring-room 0 instantly.’ Then returning to 
Varney she asked if her lord sent any farther commenda- 
tions to her. 


45 




46 


KENILWORTH 


This letter honoured madam,” said he, taking from his 
bosom a small parcel wrapt in scarlet silk, “andwith it a 
token to the queen of his affections.” With eager speed the 
lady hastened to undo the silken string which surrounded 
and f 5 ilin u g tQ Unl00 « e re adily U the 1 knot 
“Brii^me ? ]^* ecure f i ' she a S ain called loudly on Janet: 
envtofs too?!” 6 ~ SC1SSOTS “ aUght that may ™ d ° thi. 

f'lf y not 1,1 y P°? r poniard serve, honoured madam ” 
10 said Varney presenting a small dagger of exquisite wwk 

“No P sir^l^ n t S H in , Turkey? ^*her 
he offered " Steef ® 3 J’ r . e Jf, ctln « the instrument which 
mine” d- Steel Poniard shall cut no true-love knot of 

15 ha ?, cu * many, however,” said Anthony Foster half 

2C 01 devoured, the contents of the othe? ^ 

neck-string of y peari^ “the’ daughters^fxvre^ 011 &t 
fairer neck-jewels than thcLTnd^ tto posy” ‘ Fo? 
a . fairer ^ — each pearl is worth a freehold ” 

30 my gfrl Xt comedo ^ P ? PF iS W ° rth the wh °le string, 

brlv? my f^kdTmeTra^ I 

ra Vamey ’ T* t0 me his is a law Tbid® you I 

to a collation in my bower thi«i nfiomncin j y u 

Master Foster. Give orders that »U^ 2 ; t ? nd y ™’ too > ! 
40 beforehand the part which fortune prepare? u^ to" plav^ 

XTSt" USt g “ e at the SUn ’ ™ oil strong 

“If holding her head aloft,” said Foster, “will keep her 






KENILWORTH 


47 


eyes from dazzling, I warrant you the dame will not stoop 
her crest. She will presently soar beyond reach of my 
whistle, Master Varney. I promise you, she holds me 
already in slight regard.” 

“ It is thine own fault, thou sullen, uninventive compan- 5 
ion” answered Varney, “who know’st no mode of control, 
save downright brute force. Canst thou not make home 
pleasant to her with music and toys? Canst thou not 
make the out-of-doors frightful to her, with tales of goblins ? 
Thou livest here by the churchyard, and hast not even wit 10 
enough to raise a ghost, to scare thy females into good 

discipline.” „ „ . . „ , 

“Speak not thus, Master Varney/ said Foster; the 
living I fear not, but I trifle not nor toy with my dead 
neighbours of the churchyard. I promise you, it requires a 15 
good heart to live so near it; worthy Master Holdforth, 
i the afternoon’s lecturer of St. Antonlin’s, had a sore fright 
there the last time he came to visit me.” 

“ Hold thy superstitious tongue,” answered Varney; and 
while thou talk’st of visiting, answer me, thou paltering 20 
knave, how came Tressilian to be at the postern door. 

“Tressilian!” answered Foster, “what know I of lres- 
silian ? I never heard his name.” 

“Why, villain, it was the very Cornish chough to whom 
old Sir Hugh Robsart destined his pretty Amy, and hither 25 
the hot-brained fool has come to look after his fair runaway. 
There must be some order taken with him, for he thinks he 

* hath wrong, and is not the mean hind that will sit down with 
it Luckily he knows nought of my lord, but thinks he has 
only me to deal with. But how, in the fiend’s name, came 30 

k G “ Why,* with Mike Lambourne, an you must know,” an- 

SW “And F who r ’is Mike Lambourne?” demanded Varney. 

“ By Heaven ! thou wert best set up a bush over thy door, 35 
and invite every stroller who passes by to see what thou 
f shouldst keep secret even from the sun and air. 

> “ Ay ay ! this is a court-like requital of myservicetoyou. 

Master Richard Varney,” replied Foster. “ Didst thou not 
Charge me to seek out for ?hee a fellow who had a good 4 o 

• sword and an unscrupulous conscience? and was I not 
busying myself to find a fit man — for, thank Heaven, my 
acquaintance lies not amongst such companions — when, 



48 


KENILWORTH 


as Heaven would have it, this tall fellow, who is in all his j 
qualities the very flashing knave thou didst wish, came 
hither to fix acquaintance upon me in the plenitude of his 
impudence, and I admitted his claim, thinking to do you a 
5 pleasure; and now see what thanks I get for disgracing 
myself by converse with him! ” 

“And did he,” said Varney, “being such a fellow as thy¬ 
self, only lacking, I suppose, thy present humour of hypoc¬ 
risy, which lies as thin over thy hard ruffianly heart as gold’ 
io lacquer upon rusty iron — did he, I say, bring the saintly, 
sighing Tressilian in his train?” 

“They came together, by Heaven!” said Foster; “and 
Tressilian to speak Heaven’s truth — obtained a mo¬ 
ment’s interview with our pretty moppet while I was talking 
15 apart with Lambourne.” 

“ Improvident villain! we are both undone,” said Var¬ 
ney. She has of late been casting many a backward 
look to her father’s halls, whenever her lordly lover leaves 
her alone. Should this preaching fool whistle hor back to 
20 her old perch, we were but lost men.” 

„ “ N ? fear of that, my master,” replied Anthony Foster; 

she is in no mood to stoop to his lure, for she yelled out 
on seeing him as if an adder had stung her.” 

. ^ That is good. Canst thou not get from thy daughter an 

25 mklmg of what passed between them, good Foster?” 

“I tell you plain, Master Varney,” said Foster, “my 
daughter shall not enter our purposes or walk in our paths. 
They may suit me well enough, who know how to repent of 
my misdoings, but I will not have my child’s soul committed 
30 to peril either for your pleasure or my lord’s. I may walk 
among snares and pitfalls myself, because I have discretion, 
but I will not trust the poor lamb among them.” 

sus P icious f ool, I were as averse as thou art 
that thy baby-faced girl should enter into my plans, or walk 
35 to Hell at her father’s elbow. But indirectly thou mightst 
gam some intelligence of her ? ” 

“And so I did, Master Varney,” answered Foster; “and 
she said her lady called out upon the sickness of her father ” 
Good ! replied Varney; “ that is a hint worth catching, 
4° and I will work upon it. But the country must be rid of this II 
Tressilian. I would have cumbered no man about the 
matter, for I hate him like strong poison — his presence isi 
hemlock to me — and this day I had been rid of him, but 











KENILWORTH 


49 


that my foot slipped, when, to speak truth, had not thy 
comrade yonder come to my aid, and held his hand, I 
should have known by this time whether you and I have 
been treading the path to Heaven or Hell.” 

“And you can speak thus of such a risk!” said Foster. 5 
“You keep a stout heart, Master Varney; for me, if I did 
not hope to live many years, and to have time for the great 
work of repentance, I would not go forward with you.” 

« Oh ! thou shalt live as long as Methuselah,” said Varney, 

“ and amass as much wealth as Solomon; and thou shalt re- 10 
pent so devoutly that thy repentance shall be more famous 
than thy villainy — and that is a bold word. But for all 
this, Tressilian must be looked after. Thy ruffian yonder 
is gone to dog him. It concerns our fortunes, Anthony.” 

“ Ay — ay,” said Foster, sullenly, “this it is to be leagued 15 
with one who knows not even so much of Scripture as that 
the labourer is worthy of his hire. I must, as usual, take all 
the trouble and risk.” 

“Risk! and what is the mighty risk, I pray you/ 
answered Varney. “ This fellow will come prowling again 20 
about your demesne or into your house, and if you take him 
for a house-breaker or a park-breaker, is it not most natural 
you should welcome him with cold steel or hot lead? Even 
a mastiff will pull down those who come near his kennel; 
and who shall blame him?” 2 5 

“ Ay I have a mastiff’s work and a mastiff s wage among 
you” ’said Foster. “Here have you, Master Varney, 
secured a good freehold estate out of this old superstitious 
foundation; and I have but a poor lease of this mansion 
under you, voidable at your honour’s pleasure.” 3 ° 

« Ay, and thou wouldst fain convert thy leasehold into a 
copyhold; the thing may chance to happen, Anthony 
Foster, if thou dost good service for it. But softly, good 
Anthony; it is not the lending a room or two of this old 
house for keeping my lord’s pretty paroquet — nay, it is 35 
not the shutting thy doors and windows to keep her from 
living off, that may deserve it. Remember, the manor and 
tithes are rated at the clear annual value of seventy-nine 
pounds five shillings and fivepence half-penny, besides the 
value of the wood. Come — come, thou must be conscion- 40 
able; great and secret service may deserve both this and a 
better thing. And now let thy knave come and pluck off 
my boots. Get us some dinner, and a cup of thy best wine. 




50 


KENILWORTH 


I must visit this mavis, brave in apparel, unruffled in aspect 
and gay in temper.” ’ 

They parted, and at the hour of noon, which was then that 
of dinner, they again met at their meal, Varney gaily dressed 
5 like a courtier of the time, and even Anthony Foster im¬ 
proved in appearance, as far as dress could amend an exterior 
so unfavourable. 

This alteration did not escape Varney. When the meal 
was finished, the cloth removed, and they were left to their ‘ 1 
i° private discourse: “ Thou art gay as a goldfinch, Anthony,” 
said Varney, looking at his host; “methinks, thou wilt : 
whistie a jig anon; but I crave your pardon, that would 
secure your ejection from the congregation of the zealous j 
botchers, the pure-hearted weavers, and the sanctified I 
5 bakers of Abingdon, who let their ovens cool while their ! 
brains get heated.” 

„ “ To answer you in the spirit, Master Varney,” said Foster 
were — excuse the parable — to fling sacred and precious 
__ TSP bef ?j G s ™ e * So 1 wil1 s P eak to thee in the language 
th ® wor \ d > whlch he who is King of the World hath taught I 
^ unders tand, and to profit by in no common measure ” j 
s ^y what thou wilt, honest Tony,” replied Varney; I 
tor be it according to thine absurd faith, or according to thv I 
most villainous practice, it cannot choose but be rare mat- i 
2 5 ter . to qualify this cup of Alicant. 0 Thy conversation is I 
relishing and poignant, and beats caviare, dried neat’s- I 
liquoT” and ^ ° ther provocatives that give savour to good | 

tel1 me,” said Anthony Foster, “is not our j 
30 good lord and master’s turn better served, and his ante¬ 
chamber more suitably filled, with decent, God-fearing men, 
who will work his will and their own profit quietly, and j 
without worldly scandal, than that he should be manned 
amended and followed by such open debauchers and 1 
J 7 s ^ ordsmen as Tidesly, Killigrew, this fellow Lam- i 
bourne, whom you have put me to seek out for you, and 
other such who bear the gallows in their face and murder in j 
hand—-who are a terror to peaceable men, and a 
scandal to my lord s service ? 

40 “Oh, content you, good Master Anthony Foster,” an¬ 
swered Varney; “he that flies at all manner of game must 1 
keep all kinds of hawks, both short and long-winged The I 
course my lord holds is no easy one, and he must stand 


KENILWORTH 


51 


provided at all points with trusty retainers to meet each 
sort of service. He must have his gay courtier, like myself, 
to ruffle it in the presence-chamber, and to lay hand on 
hilt when any speaks in disparagement of my lord s hon¬ 
our -” ** ' 

“ Ay,” said Foster, “and to whisper a word for him into a 
fair lady’s ear, when he may not approach her himself. 

“Then,” said Varney, going on without appearing to* 
notice the interruption, “he must have his lawyers deep, 
subtle pioneers — to draw his contracts, his pre-contracts, io 
and his post-contracts, and to find the way to make the 
most of grants of church lands, and commons, and licenses 
for monopoly. And he must have physicians who can 
spice a cup or a caudle. And he must have his cabalists, 
like Dee and Allan, for conjuring up the devil. And he 15 
must have ruffling swordsmen, who would fight the devil 
when he is raised and at the wildest. And above all, 
without prejudice to others, he must have such godly, 
innocent, Puritanic souls as thou, honest Anthony, who 
defy Satan, and do his work at the same time „ 20 

“ You would not say, Master Varney, said Foster, that 
our good lord and master, whom I hold to be fulfilled in all 
nobleness, would use such base and sinful means to rise as 

thy speech points at?” , ... A nr . 

“Tush man,” said Varney, “never look at me with so sad 25 
a brow: you trap me not, nor am I in your power, as your 
weak brain may imagine, because I name to you freely the 
engines, the springs, the screws, the tackle, and braces, by 
which great men rise in stirring times. Sayest thou our 
good lord is fulfilled of all nobleness? Amen, and so be it, 30 
he has the more need to have those about him who are 
unscrupulous in his service, and who, because they know that 
his fall will overwhelm and crush them, must wager both 
blood and brain, soul and body, m order to keep him aloft, 
and this I tell thee, because I care not who knows it. 35 

“You speak truth, Master Varney, said Anthony 
Foster: “he that is head of a party is but a boat on a wave, 
that raises not itself but is moved upwards by the billow 

W ^“^ou^arf mSaphorical , honest Anthony,” replied Var-40 
nev * “ that velvet doublet hath made an oracle of thee, we 
will have thee to Oxford to take the degrees in the arts 
And, in the mean time, hast thou arranged all the matters 





52 


KENILWORTH 


which were sent from London, and put the western chambers 
into such fashion as may answer my lord's humour?" 

“ Th ey may serve a king on his bridal-day," said Anthony • 
and I promise you that Dame Amy sits in them yonder as 
5 proud.and gay as if she were the Queen of Sheba." 

“ 'Tis the better, good Anthony," answered Varney; “we 
must found our future fortunes on her good liking." 

“ We build on sand then," said Anthony Foster; “for 
supposing that she sails away to court in all her lord's 
i° dignity and authority, how is she to look back upon me, 
who am her jailer as it were, to detain her against her will’ 
keeping her a caterpillar on an old wall, when she would 
fain be a painted butterfly in a court garden ? " 

“Fear not her displeasure, man," said Varney. “I will 
15 show her that all thpu hast done in this matter was good 
service, both to my lord and her; and when she chips the 
egg-shell and walks alone, she shall own we have hatched her 
greatness." 


. Took to yourself, Master Varney," said Foster, “ you may 
20 misreckon foully in this matter. She gave you but a frosty 
reception this morning, and, I think, looks on you, as well as 
me, with an evil eye." 

“ You mistake her, Foster — you mistake her utterly. To 
s ne 18 bound by all the ties which can secure her to one 
25 who has been the means of gratifying both her love and 
ambition Who was it that took the obscure Amy Robsart 
the daughter of an impoverished and dotard knight the 
destined bride of a moonstruck, moping enthusiast’ like 
Edmund Tressilian, from her lowly fates, and held out to her 
30 m prospect the brightest fortune in England, or perchance 
m Europe? Why, man, it was I — as I have often told 
thee —that found opportunity for their secret meetings. 
It was I who watched the wood while he beat for the deer 
It was 1 who, to this day, am blamed by her family as the 
35 companion of her flight, and were I in their neighbourhood, 
would be fam to wear a shirt of better stuff than Holland 
Wjfb lest . njy jibs should be acquainted with Spanish steel. 
Who earned their letters? I. Who amused the old knight 
and Tressilian? I. Who planned her escape? It was I 
40 HttiTS - 1, f n Sh(? f rt, T D i Ck Varne T> wh ° Polled this pretty 
bonnetThT Britain S ' ° W ^ n0ok ' and P laced it in the proudest 


“Ay, Master Varney,” said Foster, “but it may be she 


KENILWORTH 


53 


thinks that had the matter remained with you, the flower 
had been stuck so slightly into the cap that the first breath 
of a changeable breeze of passion had blown the poor daisy 

t 0 -sL C °should‘consider," said Varney, foe trim 5 

faith I owed my lord and master prevented me at first from 
counselling mafriage; and yet I did counsel marriage when I 
saw she would not be satisfied without the the sacrament, 
nr^the ceremony — which callest thou it, Anthony? 

“and^tell tty in time! 1 

C °“Ve?vnatural very right,” answered Varney; “but what >5 
hav Jl to do with that ? She may shine through hornor through 

sasiiiiasEs 

sisssss 

I were mad to do so, noming, truth in upon her as 

in her ear, and exal ^f , 7 ® r the w0 ?ld. The lady must 
have of being her enemies, + u a t thy rough nature 35 

natured to be done, thou dost ^ . a | r * m orderS) an d so my 40 
own natural doggedness, , k — some one knocks 

'ATX “S',. ~»“ 

gl. i.K u m ■»» to f 



54 


KENIL WORTH 


be whom w e spoke of before dinner,” said Foster 
bourne^^ thr ° Ugb the caseme nt — “it is Michael Lam- 

Oh, admit him, by all means,” said the courtier: “he 
5 comes to give some account of his guest: it imports us much 
to know the movements of Edmund Tressilian. Admit 
him, I say, but bring him not hither. I will come to you 
presently in the abbot’s library.” y 

, . Fp ster left the room, and the courtier, who remained be- 
kmd, paced the parlour more than once in deep thought, his 
arms folded on his bosom, until at length he gave vent to his 
lTr^ atl °H S m b ™ k 5 n words, which we have somewhat en- 
to the reade? nneCte<1, that hlS Sollloqu ^ ma ^ be intelligible 

15 • t j Ue, ^ 1 be said > suddenly stopping, and resting his 

right hand on the table at which they had been sitting, “ this 
base churl hath fathomed the very depth of my fear and I 
have been unable to disguise it from 'him. She loves me 

20 that T lr? d W l re true that 1 loved not her l Idiot 
ttiat 1 was, to move her in my own behalf, when wisdom bade 

me be a true broker to my lord ! And this fatal error has 
placed me more at her discretion than a wise man would 
willingly be at that of the best piece of painted Eve’s flesh 

2 , f,]in m T a ' h0Ur that m y P oli ^ made so perilous 

5 f™S} P ’ 1 cai i not lo . ok at her without fear, and hate and 
fondness so strangely mingled that I know not whether were 
it at my choice, I would rather possess or ruin her But 
she must not leave this retreat until I am assumed on what 
terms we are to stand. My lord’s interest- o Jl ? v • 

masterpiece of court-like art f t 0+ “ £ , were m , a eed a 

counseLeeper; iThi^onflVe tome™ £ et^t ^ 

HeS^ e s d %r’“ r - co r^ 

stopped, filled and drank a cup of wine as ifToTomno^"^ 6 ’ 
agitation of his mmd; and muttering: “ Now for a close heart 
and an open and unruffled brow,” he left the apartment 



CHAPTER VI 


The dews of summer night did fall, 

The moon, sweet regent of the sky, 

Silver’d the walls of Cumnor Hall, 

An d many an oak that grew thereby. 

Mickle. 


Four apartments, which occupied the western side of the 
old quadrangle at Cumnor Place, had been fitted up with ex¬ 
traordinary splendour. This had been the work of several 
days prior to that on which our story opened. Workmen 
sent from London, and not permitted to leave the premises 5 
until the work was finished, had converted the apartments 
in that side of the building from the dilapidated appearance 
of a dissolved monastic house into the semblance of a royal 
palace A mystery was observed in all these arrangements. 
the workmen came thither and returned by night, and all 10 
measures were taken to prevent the prying curiosity of the 
villagers from observing or speculating upon the changes 
which were taking place in the mansion of their once indigent, 
but now wealthy, neighbour Anthony Foster. Accordingly, 
the secrecy desired was so far preserved that nothing got 15 
abroad but vague and uncertain reports, which were received 
and repeated, but without much credit being attached to 

On the evening of which we treat, the new and highly 
decorated suite of rooms were for the first time illuminated 20 
and that with a brilliancy which might have been visible half 
a dozen miles off, had not oaken shutters carefully secured 
with bolt and padlock, and mantled with long curtains of 
silk and of velvet, deeply fringed with gold, prevented the 
slightest gleam of radiance from being seen without. , 25 

The principal apartments, as we have seen, were four m 
number, each opening into the other. Access was given to 
them by a large scale staircase, as they were then called, of 
unusual length and height, which had its landing-place at the 
door of an ante-chamber, shaped somewhat like a gallery. 30 
This apartment the abbot had used as an occasional council- 



56 


KENILWORTH 


room, but it was now beautifully wainscoted with dark 
foreign wood of a brown colour, and bearing a high polish 
said to have been brought from the Western Indies, and to 
have been wrought in London with infinite difficulty, and 
5 much damage to the tools of the workmen. The dark 
colour of this finishing was relieved by the number of lights 
m silver sconces which hung against the walls, and by six 
large and richly framed pictures by the first masters of the 
age. A massy oaken table, placed at the lower end of the 
xo apartment, served to accommodate such as chose to play 
at the then fashionable game of shovel-board; and there 
was at the other end an elevated gallery for the musicians 
or minstrels, who might be summoned to increase the festiv¬ 
ity of the evening. 

r 5 From this ante-chamber opened a banqueting-room of 
moderate size, but brilliant enough to dazzle the eyes of the 
spectator with the richness of its furniture. The walls 
lately so bare and ghastly, were now clothed with hangings 
of sky-biue velvet and silver; the chairs were of ebonv 
2° richly carved, with cushions corresponding to the hangings : 
and the place of the silver sconces which enlightened the 
ante-chamber was supplied by a huge chandelier of the same 
precious metal. The floor was covered with a Spanish 
foot-cloth, or carpet, on which flowers and fruits were rep- 
25 resented in such glowing and natural colours that you 

TWhih? to pl fJ e the f o Qt on such exquisite workmanship. 

I he table, of old English oak, stood ready covered with the 
^ t + 1 i ne ?’ and a i a ^ ge P ort able court-cupboard was placed 
with the lejives of its embossed folding doors displayed, 
30 showing the shelves within, decorated with a full display 

a salt ppIW Z? T i?v n - In ? he midst of the table stood 
a sal rt ce bar of Italian workmanship — a beautiful and 

splendid piece of plate about two feet high, moulded into 
a representetion of the giant Briareus, 0 whose hundred 
35 hands of silver presented to the guest various sorts of spices 
or condiments, to season their food withal. P ’ 

I he third apartment was called the withdrawing-room 

Phleton™ 8 ^^^ HneSt t f a pf tr J’ re P resentin g thf fall of 
rnaeton , for the looms of Flanders were now much oc- 

40 0I 1 classlca ' subjects. The principal seat of this 

iS™' 111 w . a ? a chalr of state, raised a step or two from 
the floor, and large enough to contain two persons It was 
surmounted by a canopy, which, as well L the cushions, 



KENILWORTH 


57 


side-curtains, and the very foot-cloth, was composed of 
crimson velvet, embroidered with seed-pearl. On the top 
of the canopy were two coronets, resembling those of an 
earl and countess. Stools covered with velvet, and some 
cushions disposed in the Moorish fashion, and ornamented 5 
with Arabesque needlework, supplied the place of chairs 
in this apartment, which contained musical instruments, 
embroidery frames, and other articles for ladies pastime. 
Besides lesser lights, the withdrawing-room was illuminated 
bv four tall torches of virgin wax, each of which was placed i< 
in the grasp of a statue, representing an armed Moor, who 
held in his left arm a round buckler of silver, highly polished, 
interposed betwixt his breast and the light, which was thus 

brilliantly reflected as from a crystal mirror 

The sleeping-chamber belonging to this splendid suite of 1 
apartments was decorated in a taste less showy, but not less 
rich, than had been displayed m the others. Two silver 
lamps, fed with perfumed oil, diffused at once a delicious 
odour and a trembling twilight-seeming shimmer through 
the quiet apartment. It was carpeted so thick that the 2 
heaviest step could not have been heard; and the bed 
richly heaped with down, was spread with an ample coverlet 
of silk and gold, from under which peeped forth cambric 
sheets, and blankets as white as the lambs which yielded 
the fleece that made them. The curtains were of blue 
velvet, lined with crimson silk, deeply festoonedwithgold^, 
and embroidered with the loves of Cupid and Psyche. 
On the toilet was a beautiful Venetian mirror, m a frame 
of silver filigree, and beside it stood a gold posset-dish to 

contain the night-draught. A pair of pistols ^d? themed 
mounted with gold, were displayed near the head of the bed, 
being the arms for the night, which were presented to hon¬ 
oured guests, rather, it may be ^ u PP osed > f in J^ r way ^ e 
ceremony than from any apprehension of danger We 
must not omit to mention, what was more to the credit of 
the manners of the time, that in a small recess, illuminated 
bv a taper were disposed two hassocks of velvet and gold, 
corresponding 1 withthe bed furniture, before a desk of 
carved ebon#. This recess had formerly been the private 
oratory of^ the abbot, but the crucifix was removed, and 
Sead there were placed on the desk two Books of Common 
Praver richly bound and embossed with silver. With this 
enviable sleeping-apartment, which was so far removed from 




58 


KENILWORTH 


every sound, save that of the wind sighing among the oaks 
of the park, that Morpheus 0 might have coveted it for his 
own proper repose, corresponded two wardrobes, or dressing- 
rooms, as they are now termed, suitably furnished, and in ; 

5 style of the same magnificence which we have already 
described. It ought to be added, that a part of the building 
in the adjoining wing was occupied by the kitchen and it 
offices, and served to accommodate the personal attendant, 
of the great and wealthy nobleman for whose use thest 
io magnificent preparations had been made. 

The divinity for whose sake this temple had been de¬ 
corated was well worthy the cost and pains which had been : 
bestowed. She was seated in the withdrawing-roomwhich 
we have described, surveying with the pleased eye of natural 
15 and innocent vanity the splendour which had been so 
suddenly created, as it were, in her honour. For, as her 
own residence at Cumnor Place formed the cause of the 
mystery observed in all the preparations for opening these 
apartments, it was sedulously arranged that, until she took 
20 possession of them, she should have no means of knowing 
what was going forward in that part of the ancient building, 
or of exposing herself to be seen by the workmen engaged in 
the decorations. She had been, therefore, introduced on 
that evening to a part of the mansion which she had never 
25 yet seen, so different from all the rest that it appeared, in 
comparison, like an enchanted palace. And when she ; 
first examined and occupied these splendid rooms, it was j 
with the wild and unrestrained joy of a rustic beauty, who 
finds herself suddenly invested with a splendour which her 
30 most extravagant wishes had never imagined, and at the | 
same time with the keen feeling of an affectionate heart j 
which knows that all the enchantment that surrounds her 1 
1^ the work of the great magician Love. 

V The Countess Amy, therefore — for to that rank she was i 
35 exalted by her private but solemn union with England’s 
proudest earl — had for a time flitted hastily from room to 
room, admiring each new proof of her lover and her bride- l 
groom’s taste, and feeling that admiration enhanced, as she i 
recollected that all she gazed upon was one continued proof 
40 hls ardent and devoted affection. “ How beautiful are 
these hangings ! How natural these paintings, which seem 
to contend with life! How richly wrought is that plate, 
which looks as if all the galleons of Spain had been inter- 



KENILWORTH 


59 


•ony Foster, the close attendant w foUowed on her 

tty, but somewhat Jess “^“° h ^ uch mo re delight- 5 
t tstress s footsteps things have been assembled 

a to think that all ^ e f J a ^^d tCt this evening- 
^ his love, for the love • darker eve ry instant, I 

hs very evening, whic g t hag create d such an 

Sail thank him m ^^ a t ^f 0 1 r ° all the wonders it contains” 10 
unimaginable paradise than i aid the pretty Puritan, 

«T* iXJeoJ husband 

“ who gave thee, lady, tne kii too, have done 

whose love has done so mu wildly from room to 

my poor share; but if you thu ' p i ns will vanish 15 

room, the toil of myIi 5 i is high ” 
like the frostwork on „ - d young and beautiful 

“Thou sayest true, Janet, sai-d « race of enrap- 
countess, stopping sud y f ro m head to foot in a 

tured delight, and lookingjt he before geen and which, 20 

large mirror, such as she na the Q uee n’s palace — 

indeed, had tew to ™?*ch ans wered, as she saw, with 

“thou sayest true, Jan • no ble mirror reflect such 

pardonable self-applause, th its fair an d polished 

charms as were seldom P™®f 3 k -maid than the countess, 25 

surface; “I have more of the mUK maio^ ^ these brown 

with these cheeks flushed wi > order, straying as 

curls, which you .. lab °”® d u !. Dr uned vine. My falling ruff 
wild as the tendnls o P d bosom mo re than is 

: is chafed too, and shows_the ne practise state — 30 

S' to the prattle o, her 

attendant. . attitude and with a corresponding 

While she was m this expectat ion on her fine 40 

expression betwixtlistl s s ^ have searc hed sea and 
and intelligent features, y half so expressive or half so 
lovely^ it 'The wreath oHmUiants which mLd with her dark 



60 


KENIL WORTH 


£ht n hrn^ did n £ 4 match in lustre the hazel eye which ai 

!£t h P f! S °J the . ne cklace which she wore the samo ! 

20 ,. 9 h ^ do not do so, good my lady l” reolied T nno +. «i ! 

£“» S S',5s c;if«‘S,;4" “s l “s i 
^.-.^s^^rssssjssa 


courses. 

25 “And from whom had you thi« ™ ' 

Let?” said the countess* “ ^ -r,rud. 1 T s , righteous 


Janet?” said the countess; “ or why shmilHTL“ 6 “r us 

ztrjsstsssx.- v “"- SEittrss 

3° knows better than I^But /have heardm" 3 ? th Iadyshi P 
Varney r jn^hi*s 

ha ‘‘Th T tn° f h ° lding TO “merce wtth £” Charged me to 

M hia trufpVp»or h I 

t hM^y b fattCT t p^o^ y Cu n S^hf ‘‘, d ? ubt not 

40 and his blunt looks may belie his h/frt.’^ plaln man ’ 

yet he has oiL/o/those faeVwhich m Dly /° r ^u 7 sake; and 

'“ i »■ ■ ““ ™as as 


35 




KENILWORTH 


61 


with that poking-iron - could hardly look upon him without 

quaking” madam,” answered Janet Foster, “my 

mother had those who could keep her “ pourable counte- 
Tjnnpp Whv, even you, my lady, botti tremoieu dim 5 
blushed when Varney brought the letter from my lord. 

‘‘ You Ire bold, damsel,” said the countess rising from the 
cushions on which she sate half-reclined in the arms of her 
attendant. “Know, that there are “fj^net ” she^dded 8 IO 

HSliliiii 

sake! But I will soon cheer him; the news of my happiness 

Ind advancement will make^,him yoimg^ain. g And^that 

I may cheer him the soon she P y[y lord must not 

spoke 1 must be c ^ e ^d^s? 1 or SO rrowful when he 

find me insensible to his kmdi ness,j ^ ^ ^ 

B^'mCTrjb ^ faUmr^Ser°'and n call I1 VarrLey 1 alsS 

IZ^ZtTeZ ^mplSntTg^t them ’reaches the earl 
?hTough my means. Call them hhher.toet. & ^ minutes 3 

gloomy r y his f clumsy attemptto conceal the mixture 
remarkable kommscmn^ w hirh he looked on her over 
of anxiety ^ ?iidike ^ised so severe a control, now so 4° 
whom he had hitherto with so many pledges of the 

splendidly attired, and d eked husband’s affections. 

SLidSg ^vefencrXct he made, rather al than * 





62 


KENILWORTH 


th u - C i°Y 1 ntess ’ had confe ssion in it. It was like the reverence 
which the criminal makes to the judge, when he at once owns 
ins guilt and implores mercy, which is at the same time an 
impudent and embarrassed attempt at defence or extenua- 
5 tion, a confession of a fault, and an entreaty for lenity 
. Varney, who, in right of his gentle blood, had pressed 
into the room before Anthony Foster, knew better what 
to say than he, and said it with more assurance and a better 
grace. 

10 The countess greeted him indeed with an appearance of 
cordiality which seemed a complete amnesty for whatever 
she might have to complain of. She rose from her seat and 
advanced two steps towards him, holding forth her hand 
as she said: Master Richard Varney, you brought me this 
is morning such welcome tidings that I fear surprise and 
joy made me neglect my lord and husband’s charge to 
receive you with distinction. We offer you our hand sir 
in reconciliation.” ’ ’ 

“I am unworthy to touch it,” said Varney, dropping on 
20 one knee, save as a subject honours that of a prince ” 6 
He touched with his lips those fair and slender fingers, so 
ricWy loaded with rings and jewels; then rising with graceful 
galUntry, was about to hand her to the chair of state, when 
she said: No good Master Richard Varney, I take not my 
25 place there until my lord himself conducts me. I am for the 
present but a disguised countess, and will not take dignity 
on me until authorised by him whom I derive it from ” 

I trust, my lady,” said Foster, “that in doing the com- 
mands of my lord your husband, in your restraint and so 
30 forth, I have not incurred your displeasure, seeing that I did 

Hnlv m w^+ ty u°n Wa ^ d fv 7 ° Ur lord and mine ; for Heaven, as 
saitk > ha1 £ given the husband supremacy and 

l1k?it.” n ° Ver ^ Wlfe ~ 1 think runs so, or something 

35 » CeiVe at moment SO pleasant a surprise, Master 

thp ^fwerecl the countess, “that I cannot but excuse 

untir^he^baH 7 WhlCh ® ecluded me from thdse apartments 
splendid^ h d assumed an appearance so new and so 

40 anrwv? l ady ’” said Foster, “it hath cost many a fair crown* 
and that more need not be wasted than is absolutely nec- 

R?p a h J’ri 1 v eave y° u till my lord’s arrival with good Master 
Richard Varney, who, as I think, hath somewhat to say to 



KENILWORTH 


63 


y 


i 


* 


you from your noble lord and husband. Janet, follow me, 
to see that all be in order” 

“No, Master Foster,” said the countess, we will your 
daughter remains here in our apartment; out of ear-shot, 
however, in case Varney hath aught to say to me from my 5 

Foster made his clumsy reverence and departed, with an 
aspect that seemed to grudge the profuse expense which had 
been wasted upon changing his house from a bare and ruin¬ 
ous grange to an Asiatic palace. When he was gone, his 10 
daughter took her embroidery frame and went to establish 
herself at the bottom of the apartment, while Richard 
Varney, with a profoundly humble courtesy, took the lowest 
stool he could find, and placing it by the side of the pile 
of cushions on which the countess had now again seated 15 
herself, sat with his eyes for a time fixed on the ground, and 


in profound silence. , , 

“ I thought, Master Varney,” said the countess, when she 
saw he was not likely to open the conversation that you 
had something to communicate from my lord and husband, 20 
so at least I understood Master Foster, and therefore I 
removed my waiting-maid. If I am mistaken I will recall 
her to my side; for her needle is not so absolutely perfect 
in tent and cross-stitch but what my superintendence is 

ad “Lady,” said Varney, “Foster was partly mistaken in my 
purpose It was not from but of your noble husband, and 
my approved and most ^noble patron, that I am led, and 

in< “^h^ theme is most welcome, sir,” said the countess, 30 
“whether it be of or from my noble husband. But be 
brief, for I expect his hasty approach. , 

“ Briefly then, madam,” replied Varney, and boldly, for 
my argument requires both haste and courage you ave 

thl “I d have! n sir, re and a what of that?” answered the lady, 

S °’“Nothing that 7 concerns me, lady,” Varney replied with 
humility. “But, think you, honoured madam, that your 

lord will hear it with equal equanimity ? 40 

« And wherefore should he not? To me alone was Tres- 
silian’s visit embarrassing and painful, for he brought news 
of my good father’s illness. 




64 


KENILWORTH 


Of your father’s illness, madam!” answered Varney. 

It must have been sudden then — very sudden; for the 
messenger whom I despatched, at my lord’s instance, found 
the good knight on the hunting-field, cheering his beagles 
5 with his wonted jovial field-cry. I trust Tressilian has but 
forged this news. He hath his reasons, madam, as you well 
know, for disquieting your present happiness.” 

“ You do him injustice, Master Varney,” replied the coun¬ 
tess, with animation — “you do him much injustice. He is 
io the freest, the most open, the most gentle heart that breathes. 
My honourable lord ever excepted, I know not one to whom 
falsehood is more odious than to Tressilian.” 

“I crave your pardon, madam,” said Varney, “ I meant 
the gentleman no injustice — I knew not how nearly his 
15 cause affected you. A man may, in some circumstances, 
disguise the truth for fair and honest purpose; for were it 
to be always spoken, and upon all occasions, this were no 
world to live in.” 


‘You have a courtly conscience, Master Varney,” said 
20 the countess, “and your veracity will not, I think, interrupt 
your preferment in the world, such as it is. But touching: 
tressilian —I must do him justice, for I have done him 
wrong, as none knows better than thou: Tressilian’s con¬ 
science is of other mould. The world thou speakest of has 
25 not that which could bribe him from the way of truth and 
honour; and for living in it with a soiled fame, the ermine 
would as soon seek to lodge in the den of the foul polecat 
For this my father loved him. For this I would have loved 
mm if I could. And yet in this case he had what seemed 
30 to him, unknowing alike of my marriage and to whom I 
was united, such powerful reasons to withdraw me from 
this place, that I well trust he exaggerated much of mv 
father s indisposition, and that thy better news may be 
the truer.” J 

“Believe me they are, madam,” answered Varney “I 
pretend not to be a champion of that same naked virtue 
called truth to the very outrance. 0 I can consent that her 
charms be hidden with a veil, were it but for decency’s sake 
But you must think lower of my head and heart than is due 
40 to one whom my noble lord deigns to call his friend, if you 
suppose I could wilfully and unnecessarily palm upon your 
ladyship a falsehood, so soon to be detected, in a matter 
which concerns your happiness.” 


35 





KENILWORTH 


65 


“Master Varney,” said the countess, “I know that my 
lord esteems you, and holds you a faithful and a good pilot 
in those seas in which he has spread so high and so venturous 
a sail. Do not suppose, therefore, I meant hardly by you 
when I spoke the truth in Tressilian’s vindication. I am, 5 
as you well know, country-bred, and like plain rustic truth 
better than courtly compliment; but I must change my 
fashions with my sphere, I presume.” J 

“True, madam,” said Varney smiling, and though you 
speak now in jest, it will not be amiss that in earnest your 10 
present speech had some connexion with your real purpose. 

A court dame — take the most noble — the most virtuous 
— the most unimpeachable, that stands around our Queen s 
throne — would, for example, have shunned to speak the 
truth, or what she thought such, in praise of a discarded 15 
suitor, before the dependant and confidant of her noble 

hU “^nd wherefore,” said the countess, colouring impatiently, 
“should I not do justice to Tressilian’s worth before my 
husband’s friend — before my husband himself — before 20 

the whole world?” , 

“ And with the same openness,” said Varney, your lady¬ 
ship will this night tell my noble lord your husband that 
Tressilian has discovered your place of residence, so anx¬ 
iously concealed from the world, and that he has had an 25 

interview with you?” , 

“Unquestionably,” said the countess. It will be the 
first thing I tell him, together with every word that Ires- 
silian said, and that I answered. I shall speak my own 
shame in this, for Tressilian’s reproaches, less just than he 30 
esteemed them, were not altogether unmerited I will 
speak, therefore, with pain, but I will speak, and speak all 
“ Your ladyship will do your pleasure, answered Varney, 
“but methinks it were as well, since nothing calls for so 
frank a disclosure, to spare yourself this pain, and my noble 35 
lord the disquiet, and Master Tressilian, since belike he 
must be thought of in the matter, the danger which is like 

t °‘Tc“n see nought of all these terrible consequences,” said 
the lady, composedly, “unless by imputing to my noble lord40 
unworthy thoughts, which I am sure never harboured m 

“ t’a^lie*it from me to do so,” said Varney. And then, 


F 



66 


KENILWORTH 


after a moment’s silence, he added, with a real or affected 
plainness of manner very different from his usual smooth 
courtesy: “ Come, madam, I will show you that a courtier 
dare speak truth as well as another, when it concerns the 
Sweal of those whom he honours and regards, ay, and al¬ 
though it may infer his own danger.” He waited as if 
to receive commands, or at least permission, to go on, but 
as the lady remained silent, he proceeded, but obviously 
with caution. “Look around you,” he said, “noble lady, 
io and observe the barriers with which this place is surrounded, 
the studious mystery with which the brightest jewel that 
England possesses is secluded from the admiring gaze. See 
with what rigour your walks are circumscribed, and your 
movements restrained at the beck of yonder churlish Fos- 
15 ter. Consider all this, and judge for yourself what can be 
the cause.” 

“My lord’s pleasure,” answered the countess; “and I am 
bound to seek no other motive.” 

“ His pleasure it is indeed,” said Varney; “ and his pleas- 
20 ure arises out of a love worthy of the object which inspires 
it. But he who possesses a treasure, and who values it, is 
oft anxious, in proportion to the value he puts upon it 
to secure it from the depredations of others.” 

“ What needs all this talk, Master Varney?” said the lady 
25 m reply. “ You would have me believe that my noble lord 
is jealous? Suppose it true, I know a cure for jealousy” 

“ Indeed, madam ! ” said Varney. 

“It is,” replied the lady, “to speak the truth to my lord 
at all times, to hold up my mind and my thoughts before 
30 him as pure as that polished mirror; so that when he looks 
into my heart he shall only see his own features reflected there.” 

“I am mute, madam,” answered Varney; “and as I have 
no reason to grieve for Tressilian, who would have my 
heart’s blood were he able, I shall reconcile myself easily to 
35 what may befall the gentleman in consequence of your 
frank disclosure of his having presumed to intrude upon 
your solitude. You, who know my lord so much better 
^ » wil1 i ud g e ^ ke be likely to bear the insult unavenged.” 

. f could think myself the cause of Tressilian’s 

40 rum, said the countess — “ I who have already occasioned 
him so much distress, I might be brought to be silent. And 
yet what will it avail, since he was seen by Foster, and I 
think by some one else? No, no, Varney, urge it no more. 


KENILWORTH 


67 


I will tell the whole matter to my lord; and with such plead¬ 
ing for Tressilian’s folly as shall dispose my lord s generous 
heart rather to serve than to punish him.” 

“Your judgment, madam,” said Varney, is far superior 
to mine, especially as you may, if you will, prove the ice 5 
before you step on it, by mentioning Tressilian s name to 
my lord, and observing how he endures it. For Foster and 
his attendant, they know not Tressilian by sight, and I can 
easily give them some reasonable excuse for the appearance 
of an unknown stranger.” ( 10 

The lady paused for an instant, and then replied. 11, 
Varney, it be indeed true that Foster knows not as yet that 
the man he saw was Tressilian, I own I were unwilling he 
should learn what nowise concerns him. He bears himsell 
already with austerity enough, and I wish him not to be 15 
iudge or privy-councillor in my affairs. , 

“Tush,” said Varney, “what has the surly groom to do 
with your ladyship’s concerns? No more, surely, than the 
ban-dog which watches his courtyard. If he is m aught 
distasteful to your ladyship, I have interest enough to have 20 
him exchanged for a seneschal that shall be more agreeable 

t0 “"Master Varney,” said the countess, “let us drop this 
theme: when I complain of the attendants whom 
has placed around me, it must be to my iord hmiself Hark! 25 
I hear the trampling of horse. He comes! he comes. 

she exclaimed, lumping up in ecstasy. 

“I cannot think it it he,” said Varney, “or that you can 
hear the tread of his horse through the closely mantled^ 

Ca “ e Stop t me not, Varney; my ears are keener than thine 

~ ‘But he madam! - but, madam! ” exclaimed Varney 

anxiously, and still placing himself in her way, I trust that 
what I have spoken in humble duty and service will not, be 35 
turned to my ruin. I hope that my faithful ad™e ,™ U 
■not be bewrayed to my prejudice. I implore that 

“Content thee, man — content thee !” saidL the' coun ^’ 
“and quit my skirt: you are too bold to detain me. Con 

tent thvself, I think not of thee. , 

At this moment the folding-doors flew wide open, and 
a man of m“"mien, muffled in the folds of a long dark 
riding-cloak, entered the apartment. 





CHAPTER VII 


i™ . , , This is he 

W ho rides on the court gale, controls its tides. 
Knows all their secret shoals and fatal eddies. 
Whose frown abases, and whose smile exalts. 

He shines like any rainbow — and, perchance. 

His colours are as transient. 

Old Play. 


There was some little displeasure and confusion on the 
countess s brow, owing to her struggle with Varney’s perti¬ 
nacity; but it was exchanged for an expression of the purest 
joy and affection, as she threw herself into the arms of the 
S noble stranger who entered, and clasping him to her bosom, 
exclaimed, At length — at length thou art come !” 

Varney discreetly withdrew as his lord entered, and Janet 
was about to do the same, when her mistress signed to her to 
remain. She took her place at the farther end of the apart- 
joment, and continued standing, as if ready for attendance. 
Meanwhile the earl, for he was of no inferior rank re- 
turned his lady s caress with the most affectionate ardour 
him aftected to resist when she strove to take his cloak from 

s ^. e sa id, "but I will unmantle you. I must see 
if you have kept your word to me, and come as the great 

cavalier” 09/11 theG ' and n0t aS heretofore hke a private 

C1 ^ Thou art like the rest of the world, Amy,” said the earl, 
20 suffering her to prevail m the playful contest: “the jewels 
and feathers, and silk are more to them than the man whom 

scabbard/’ 1 ' a P °° r Wade lo ° ks in a velvet 

“But so cannot men say of thee, thou noble’earl” said 
25 his lady, as the cloak dropped on the floor, and showed him 
dressed as princes when they ride abroad; “thou art the 
S? od aad well-tried steel, whose inly worth deserves, yet 
disdains its outward ornaments. Do not think Amy 
can love thee better in this glorious garb than she did whZ 

68 


KENILWORTH 


69 


she gave her heart to him who wore the russet-brown cloak 

in the woods of Devon.” . 

“ And thou too,” said the earl, as gracefully and majesti- 
callv he led his beautiful countess towards the chair of state 
which was prepared for them both — “ thou too, my love S 
hast donned a dress which becomes thy rank, though it 
cannot improve thy beauty. What think st thou of our 

C °The^lady cast a sidelong glance upon the great mirror as 
they passed it by, and then said: “I know not howitis, 10 
but I think not of my own person while I look at the reflec 
tion of thine. Sit thou there,” she said, as they approached 
the chair of state, “like a thing for men to worship and to 

W °?Ay, love,” said the earl, “if thou wilt share my staters 

W1 *N“ e so,” said the countess; “I will sit on this footstool 
at thy feet, that I may spell over thy splendour, and learn, 
for the first time, how princes are attired. . 

And with a childish wonder which her youth and rustic edu- 20 
cation rendered not only excusable but becoming, mixed as it 
was with a delicate show of the most tender conjugal affec- 
tion Uhe examined and admired from head to foot the noble 
form and princely attire of him who formed the proudest 
ornament of the court of England’s Maiden Queen, renowned 25 
as it was for splendid courtiers, as well as for wise counsellors. 
Regarding affectionately his lovely bride, and gratified by 
her^unrepressed admiration, the dark eye 
of the earl expressed passions more gentle than the com 
man^rand P aspiring P look which usually sate upon his 30 
broad forehead and in the piercing bnihancy ^ ^s dark 
eve* and he smiled at the simplicity which dictated the 
question she put to him concerning the various ornaments 

35 

the OTder. You have heard how King Edward and the^ 
Countess of SaHsbur^—” e said the count slightly 
blushing, “anl how a lady's garter became the proudest 
badge of English chivalry.” 



70 


KENILWORTH 


Even so,” said the earl; “ and this most honourable 
order 1 had the good hap to receive at the same time with 
three most noble associates — the Duke of Norfolk, the 
Marquis of Northampton, and the Earl of Rutland. I was 
5 the lowest of the four m rank; but what then? he that 
climbs a ladder must begin at the first round.” 

this other fair collar, so richly wrought, with some 
jewel like a sheep hung by the middle attached to it, what ” 
sai <? th e young countess, “does that emblem signify?”' 

10 • x , 1S co ^ ar ’. sa ^ the earl, “with its double fusilles 
interchanged with these knobs, which are supposed to pre¬ 
sent fhntstones, sparkling with fire, and sustaining the 

lVI e r m iS mre about ’ is the bad § e of the n °ble order of 
T . ? nce . a PP e rt a ming to the house of Bur- 

15 gundy. It hath high privileges, my Amy, belonging to it 
this most noble order; for even the king of SpaiA himself 
who hath now succeeded to the honours and demesnes of 
Burgundy, may not sit in judgment upon a knight of the 
Golden Fleece, unless by assistance and consent of the great 
20 chapter of the order.” s 

is A hi f an 0rder belonging to the cruel king of 
Spam? said the countess. “Alas! mv noble lord 
you will defile your noble English breast by bearing such an 
emblem Bethink you of the most unhappy Queen Marv’s 

25 y A 7 ^ n th r Sai ^ e ? hilip ° held swa y with ; her in England 
a ^ d ° f th ® P lles which were built for our noblest, and our 

S Jlr T trUly S “ ed Palates and divines. 
And will you, whom men call the standard-bearer of the 
true Protestant faith, be contented to wear the emblem and 
3 ° mark of such a Romish tyrant as he of Spain? ” 

Uh, content you, my love,” answered the earl- “wp 
who spread our sails to gales of court favour cannot always 
display the ensigns we love the best, or at all times refuse 
smhng under colours which we like not. Believe me I am 
3S not the less good Protestant that for policy I must accent 
the honour offered me by Spain, in admitting m?to tMs ISs 
highest order of knighthood. Besides, it bllongs properlv 
to Flanders and Egmont, Orange, and others ^iave pride 
m^eemg it displayed on an English bosom.” P d 

40 Nay, my lord, you know your own path best” replied 

To a very poor one, my love,” replied the earl: “this is 


KENILWORTH 


71 


the order of St. Andrew, 0 revived by the last James of 
Scotland. It was bestowed on me when it was thought the 
young widow of France and Scotland 0 would gladly have 
wedded an English baron; but a free coronet of England 
is worth a crown matrimonial held at the humour of as 
woman, and owming only the poor rocks and bogs of the 
north.” 

The countess paused, as if what the earl last said had ex¬ 
cited some painful but interesting train of thought; and, 
as she still remained silent, her husband proceeded. io 

“ And now, loveliest, your wish is gratified, and you have 
seen your vassal in such trim array as accords with riding 
vestments; for robes of state and coronets are only for 
princely halls.” 

“ Well, then,” said the countess, “my gratified wish has, 15 
as usual, given rise to a new one.” 

“ Aud what is it thou canst ask that I can deny? said 
the fond husband. 

“I wished to see my earl visit this obscure and secret 
bower,” said the countess, “in all his princely array; and 20 
now, methinks, I long to sit in one of his princely halls, 
and see him enter dressed in sober russet, as when he won 
poor Amy Robsart’s heart.” , 

“That is a wish easily granted,” said the earl; the sober 
russet shall be donned to-morrow, if you will.” 25 

“But shall I,” said the lady, “go with you to one of your 
castles, to see how the richness of your dwelling will corre¬ 
spond with your peasant habit?” 

“Why, Amy,” said the earl, looking around, are not 
these apartments decorated with sufficient splendour? I 30 
gave the most unbounded order, and, methinks, it has been 
indifferently well obeyed; but if thou canst tell me aught 
which remains to be done, I will instantly give direction. 

“ Nay my lord, now you mock me,” replied the countess; 
“the gaiety of this rich lodging exceeds my imagination as 35 
much as it does my desert. But shall not your wife, my 
love — at least one day soon — be surrounded with the 
honour which arises neither from the toils of the mechanic 
who decks her apartment nor from the silks and jewels with 
which your generosity adorns her, but which is attached to 40 
her place among the matronage, as the avowed wife ot 
England’s noblest earl?” . . 

“One day!” said her husband. “Yes, Amy, my love, 



72 


KENILWORTH 


cans^Towlf? 11 ^w Y u happen; and ' believe m e, thou 
canst not wish for that day more fondly than I. With 

Indtoufof7mhV d 1 r tire f T m labours of state, and cares 
and toils of ambition, to spend my life in dignity and honour 

5 on my own broad domains, with thee, my^lovely Amy for 

3 f thp nd C u mpa + ni ? n ! But ' Am y> tbis can not yJt be • 
and these dear but stolen interviews are all I can give to 

Icvehest and the best beloved of her sex ” S 
_ , + Ut Wh y Can aot be ? ” nrged the countess, in the soft- 

IO nlace neS thL PerSUaS1 ° n V ‘l Wh J Can il not immediately take 
whfnh th perfect, this uninterrupted union for 

which you say you wish, and which the laws of God and man 

a vorSf and L Ah ! did ^ but desire it half “ch 
a ^ y ?j u ay ’ mi & ht y and favoured as you are, who or what 
15 should bar your attaining your wish?” 

The earTs brow was overcast. 

ttt -^ e - Said ’ “ you s P ea k of what you understand not 

We that toil in courts are like those who climb a mountain 

Sand: We dar , e make no halt until some projecting rock 
l us a secure footing and resting-place; if we muse 
sooner, we slide down by our own weight, an ob tort of 
universal derision. I stand high but T «tnnri ' °; >3ect 1 

enough to follow my own inclination. To declare mv mar 6 

you“ ag ^ *5 Mkin S' How er does7osTer e bear htosSf to 

3 ° dearly ruell” gS res P ecWul - 1 trust, else the fellow shall 

He reminds me sometimes of the necessitv of thia 
vacy, answered the lady, with a sie-h • “hut +w • th - P i" 

- afSix-»“ 

replie^the^l^'Fo'stoTsTSS* Whic \ is Upon us 

t m o°°m d y ^v£T V devotion 
40 of the mode in which he discharges hisXty^h^shln aby? 

“so°h h e discharMs '‘and^s 



KENILWORTH 


73 


daughter Janet is the kindest and best companion of 
my solitude, her little air of precision sits so well upon 
her!” 

“Is she indeed?” said the earl; “she who gives you 
pleasure must not pass unrewarded. Come hither, damsel. 5 
“Janet,” said the lady, “come hither to my lord.” 

Janet, who, as we already noticed, had discreetly retired 
to some distance, that her presence might be no check upon 
the private conversation of her lord and lady, now came 
forward; and as she made her reverential courtesy, the earl 10 
could not avoid smiling at the contrast which the extreme 
simplicity of her dress, and the prim demureness of her 
looks, made with a very pretty countenance and a pair of 
black eyes, that laughed in spite of their mistress’s desire 

to look grave. . u . x 5 

“I am bound to you, pretty damsel,” said the earl, lor 
the contentment which your service hath given to this 
lady ” As he said this, he took from his finger a ring ol 
some price, and offered it to Janet Foster, adding: “Wear 
this, for her sake and for mine.” 20 

“I am well pleased, my lord,” answered Janet, demurely, 

“ that my poor service hath gratified my lady, whom no one 
can draw nigh to without desiring to please; but we of the 
precious Master Holdforth’s congregation seek not, like 
the gay daughters of this world, to twine gold around our 2S 
fingers, or wear stones upon our necks, like the vain women 
of Tyre and of Sidon.” 

“Oh what! you are a grave professor of the precise 
sisterhood, pretty Mrs. Janet,” said the earl, “and I think 
your father is of the same congregation m sincerity. I like 30 
you both the better for it; for I have been prayed for, and 
wished well to, in your congregations. And you may the 
better afford the lack of ornament, Mrs. Janet, because your 
fingers are slender and your neck white. But here is 
what neither Papist nor Puritan, latitudmanan nor pre- 35 
cisian, 0 ever boggles or make mouths at. E en take it, my 
girl, and employ it as you list” . . 

So saying, he put into her hand five broad gold pieces of 

Ph “I P would^.ot y accept this gold neither,” said Janet, “but 40 
that I hope to find a use for it which will bring a blessing 

° I1 “ l Even please thyself, pretty Janet,” said the earl, “and I 




74 


KENILWORTH 


And I prithee let them hasten the 


shall be well satisfied, 
evening collation.” 

“Ilf™ biddea Mast + e r Varney and Master Foster to sup 
with us, my lord, said the countess, as Janet retired to obey 
5 u ! com mands; “ has it your approbation ? ” 

What you do ever must have so, my sweet Amv” 

W e lnfth USb ^ ; “ and J am thG better P leaSed thou 
hast done them this grace, because Richard Varney is my 

m man ’ an ? % ° l0Se brother of my secret council; and 

Anttony P F e o S e ter.” “ edB rep ° Se mUch trust in this 

HpIJwr! a b °T 1 ° beg of thee > and a secret to tell thee, my 
dear iord, said the countess, with a faltering accent. 

ie ur r? both be for to-morrow, my love,- replied the earl. 
5 I see they open the folding-doors into the banquetinsr- 
pariour and, as I have ridden far and fast, a cup^f wine 
will not be unacceptable.” y 

wb S prp Sa vir?a he le< ? fe is i 0Vely W - ife into the next apartmen 
where \arney and Foster received them with the deepest 

20 ZTZ eS ’ Wh !f h tbe paid after the fashion the com 
and the second after that of the congregation. The . 

returned their salutation with the negligent courtesy of ( • 

long used to such homage; while the countess repaid it with 

>s^£tZ™ hcitude which showed * was not “so 

The banquet at which the company seated themselves 
corresponded in magnificence with the splendour of the 
apartment m which it was served up, but no domestic gave 
his attendance. Janet alone stood ready to wait upon 8 the 

30 ra y; TA mdeed > the board was so well supphed with 
all that could be desired that little or no assistance was 

ofthpTJhl The /v rl and Ms lady occu P ied the upper end 
1 + 5 1 ' and Varn ?y and Foster sat beneath the salt ° 
as was the custom with inferiors. The latter overawed 
35 perhaps by society to which he was altogether unused ^id 
not utter a single syllable during the repast; while Varnev 
with great tact and discernment, sustained just so much 
of the conversation as, without the appearance of intrusion 
his part, prevented it from languishing, and maintained 
40 the good-humour of the earl at the highest pitch This 

part r S whi d n e v, e 1 1 hi f ghly ^? lifie , , J ** “ to discharge the 
part in which he found himself placed, being discreet and 

cautious on the one hand, and on the’othef quick keen- 


KENILWORTH 


75 


witted, and imaginative; so that even the countess, preju¬ 
diced as she was against him on many accounts, telt ana 
enioved his powers of conversation, and was more disposed 
than she had ever hitherto found herself to J 0 in mt he 
praises which the earl lavished on his favourite. The hour 5 
of rest at length arrived, the earl and countess retired to 
their apartment, and all was silent m the castle for the rest 

° f Earlyon the ensuing morning, Varney acted as the earl’s 
chamberlain as well as his master of horse, though the latter 
was his proper office in that magnificent household, where 
knights and gentlemen of good descent were well contented 
to hold such menial situations as nobles themselves Zeldin 
that of the sovereign. The duties of each of thes ®.^f ^ t It . 
were familiar to Varney, who, sprung from an ancient but 15 
somewhat decayed family, was the earl s page dunngh 
earlier and more obscure fortunes, and, faithful to him m 
Adversity, had afterwards contrived to render himself no 
less useful to him in his rapid and splendid advance to for- 
.'" me- thus establishing in him an interest resting both 20 
present and past services, which rendered him an almost 
f dispensable sharer of his confidence. „ 

“ Help me to don a plainer ridmg-suit, Varney, said the 
earl, as he laid aside his morning-gown, flowered with silk 
and lined with sables, “and put these chains and fetters 25 
there (pointing to the collars of the various orders which 
lav on the table) into their places of security; my neck last 
nilht was wellnigh broke with the weight of them I am 
half of the mind that they shall gall me no more. They are 
bonds which knaves have invented to fetter fools. How 3° 

think’st thou, Varney?” “j think 

“Faith my good lord, said his attendant, i thin 

fetters of gSd are like no other fetters: they are ever the 

Varney,” replied his master, “I am well- 35 
nigh resolved they shall bind me to the court no longer. 
What can further service and higher favour give me, be- 
vond the rank and large estate which I have already se¬ 
cured? What brought my father to the block, but that 
he could not bound his wishes within right and jeason^ 4° 
I have you know, had mine own ventures and mine own 
escapes ; Y I am wellnigh resolved to tempt the sea no farther, 
but sit me down in quiet on the shore. 



76 


KENILWORTH 


said A Varney her cockle ~ shells > with Dan Cu P id to aid you 
whlfhlstily an y ° U by that; Varne y ? ” said the earl, somio 

5 Nay, my lord,” said Varney, “be not angry with me. 
if your lordship is happy in a lady so rarely lovely that in 
order to enjoy her company with somewhat more freedom, 
you are willing to part with all you have hitherto lived for 
some of your poor servants may be sufferers; but your 
10 bounty hath placed me so high, that I shall ever have enough 
to maintam a poor gentleman in the rank befitting the high 
office he has held in your lordship’s family. ” 

“Yet you seem discontented when I propose throwing: 
u P„ a dangerous game, which may end in the ruin of both of 
15 us. 

I, my lord! ” said Varney; “ surely I have no cause to 
regret your lordship s retreat. It will not be Richard Var- 
ney who will incur the displeasure of majesty, and t> a 
ridicule of the court, when the stateliest fabric that e- '4 
20 was founded upon a prince’s favour melts away like am 
mg frost-work. I would only have you yourself be assu .d; 
my lord, ere you take a step which cannot be retracted, that,: 
you consult your fame and happiness in the course you 
propose. 

25 , “ s Peak on, then, Varney,” said the earl; “I tell thee I 
onTither^ide 11 ’^ n ° thing ’ and wil1 wei S h a11 considerations 

“Wed, then, my lord,” replied Varney, “we will suppose 
the step taken, the frown frowned, the laugh laughed^ and 
30 the moan moaned You have retired, we will say, to some 
?“® '* J° ur ™. ost distant castles, so far from court that you 
™l ah m he sorrow of your friends nor the glee of vour 
will he S ’ Y' su PP? se > too, that your successful rival 
satls 5 ed —, a thing greatly to be doubted — with 
35 abridging and cutting away the branches of the great tree 

tosist 1 nno 1 n n t : ^ ^ SUn ^ him ’ and that h « does n °t 

insist upon tearing you up by the roots. Well, the late 
prime favourite of England, who wielded her general’! 
staff and controlled her parliaments, is now a rural baron 
"ohuntmg, hawking, drinking fat ale with country esquh-es’ 

sheriff ^ 11 ’’ ng S men at the comman d of the hi^h 
“Varney, forbear!” said the earl. 


KENILWORTH 


77 


7 s r U c'ceSn is to be settlfd-a road is opened to am- 

't^Z S t7o^y Z yonr 5 

- ~ t 

braced* and aHhat you might look-in the eyes of 

your fair wife oftenere°S ?1 “no more of this. I said .o 

; L7thl step which my own ease and comfort would urge 

due^my wishes of Uement, not by ^ 

the call of '^conn" the hour of 

position m which I may best serve my i formerly, 

leed. Order our horses presently ™ we ^ e ’ portmant le. 

«* of the livery cloaks and ride bewr > tnp tW 

1 , m shalt be master for the day, Varney, ^ ^8 2o 

^Having said this in a melancholy but firm accent, he left *5 

the dressing-apartment thought Varney, “or, prac- 

I am glad thou art go » e j had laughed m the 

tised as I am in the follies a ^ ^ thou wilt of thy 
very face of thee! Thou m y inted Eve > s flesh thereto 

new bauble, thy P r . et fj j\ But 0 f thine old bauble, am- 
I will not be thy “nee BuUt^ ^ ^ my ^ 
bition, thou shalt not tire, lor y you; and if he ca n 

you must drag Richard Va J P pr ofit by, believe me 
urge you to the “ C ! r n Vhtn n“ s™r P And/or you, my 35 
he will spare neither w pnuntess outright, you were best 
pretty lady, that would b are called to an old reck- 

not thwart my ’‘Thou shalt be master,’ did he say? 

oning on a new score.: , that he sooke truer than he is aware 
By my faith, he may find th h 5 s P. mation of so many wise- 40 
of. And thus he, who m ™ urlei h and Walsingham 0 m 
judging men, can mate be ^ mes 8 piipil to his own menial; 

5 Sd 2 i ?or a hazefeye and a little cunning red and white, and 





78 


KENILWORTH 


cou f rdexc^e t i°^„n^ nd T®.*’ if ‘K^-rms of mortal woman 
my lord had th? 8 ? S pollt J; c P ate . for becoming bewildered, 

SSL™* 1 " in ‘-view with KilS/lfwM think^she 

.sss '9SSSr!Sr T “ r 

s s r 

son and he died ‘my lord’ - on a scaffoM, doubtles? but 

'&&A^-$;’Sxr&£s 

&I .feg, |» Ml a.S.S"'* 8 * “ “ “>*?•" 

-ttaSktt»®2S E ®'iStta 

■’ssilinP^raSt 

than diminished by thegrieTkhhdfstefeltat'the 8 ' 118 ™ 611 *^ 
mg moment of separation. U at the “PProach- 

3 ° the earl^’sSree^tearing^MmsS^from 1ier and h° VedeS * * ” Said 
returning to fold her faahfanrt „ h . er , e . rab «me, yet again 
bidding farewell and ae-ain rptnr b r? m *?, arms ’ aad again 
once more. “The sun^s on tv, mng t0 and ^id adieu 

“SilE# 4 “S 

cu^tnh e ei^ a X d g S intr h vi^ iCh ] ® ngth h ® to 

40 ess. Y ?‘A^kr I^LTdiS’lldy with/ ^VT^ 

te” Se6k b °° n ° f a bra^Utgtt,Tet ^ur^S 
Anything, Amy anything thou canst ask I will grant/’ 




KENILWORTH 


79 


he said, “that 


answered the earl; “ always excepting, 

which might ruin us both.” . , , , 

“Nay,^ said the countess, “I urge not my wish to be 
acknowledged in the character which would make me the 
envy of England - as the wife, that is of my brave and 5 
noble lord, the first as the most fondly beloved of English 
nobles. Let me but share the secret with my dear father 
Let me but end his misery on my unworthy account, they 
sav he is ill, the good old kind-hearted man! 

“ They say?” asked the earl, hastily; who says? Did i° 
not Varney convey to Sir Hugh all we dare at present tell 
him concerning your happiness and welfare? And bas he 
not told you that the good old knight was r ^ ? 

good heart and health, his favourite and wonted exercise. 

Who has dared put other thoughts into your head. 5 

“ Oh no one, my lord - no one,” said the countess, some- 
thine alarmed at the tone in which the question was put , 
“but yet, my lord, I would fain be assured by mine own 

^contLT^Amyf Thou canst not nownoTT 

to the custody of more than must needs be, it were suffi 
• x rofl^on for secrecv that yonder Cormshman yonder 
TrevaTion or TressS, or whatever his name is - haunts , 5 
the old knight’s house, and must necessarily know wha 

ever is communicated there. +Vn‘nV it so 

“ Mv lord ” answered the countess, I do not think it so. 

Mv father has been long noted a worthy and honourable 
My father & Tressilian if we can pardon ourselves the 3 ° 

£*£? “‘fee hardly 1 of ^ 

Xn 7 s a ieTgued, SS S whom.’ He stands high in the 




80 


KENIL WORTH 


opinion of this Ratcliffe, this Sussex, against whom I am 
barely able to maintain my ground in the opinion of our 
^spieious mistress; and if he had me at such advantage 
t t0 w 0I ? e acquainted with the tale of our mfr- 
Snage before Elizabeth were fitly prepared, I were an out 
cast from her grace for ever - a bankrupt at once in favour 
f nd ln *,° rtune > Perhaps, for she hath in her a touch of her 
father Henry-a victim, and it may be a bloody one to hel 
offended and jealous resentment.” 

10 , wh ?>' my lord,” again urged his lady, “ should von 

d^em thus injuriously of a man of whom you^know so little? 
What you do know of Tressilian is through me lid it is I 

your secret ft no ci ~ancfs will hfbetlly 

your secret, it I did him wrong m your behalf mv InrH 

15 I am now the more concerned you should do him lustioe’ 

^v U h«rf T°f e i nd 1? at m y speaking of him ; what would you 
say had I actually myself seen him ? ” ^ 

If you had,” replied the earl, “you would do well to keen 
that interview as secret as that which is snnt-^n X ° * ep 

volvmg less than my fame, my fortune/and m| Hf e S ask 

jofain^s^^ countess, 

but your anger hasten Ttlrom myTecolletfon ” " ^ 

« e?ss a“ k:ss s irkifs * ‘ ss 

if it is not gratified to the letter ” de P endencies can fulfil 
Thus saying, he at length took farewell At k.h 
of the staircase he received from Varnpv 1 b ?. tton i 

as to know or guess that the earl intrigued with a beautiful 





KENILWORTH 


81 


lady at that mansion, though her name and quality were 
unknown to them, had already been dismissed over night. 

Anthony Foster himself had in hand the rein of the earl s 
palfrey, a stout and able nag for the road; while his old 
I serving-man held the bridle of the more showy and gallant 5 
! steed which Richard Varney was to occupy in the charac¬ 
ter of master. 

As the earl. approached, however, Varney advanced to 
T hold his master’s bridle, and to prevent Foster from paying 
1 that duty to the earl which he probably considered as be- 10 
longing to his own office. Foster scowled at an interference 
which seemed intended to prevent his paying his court to 
his patron, but gave place to Varney; and the earl, mount¬ 
ing without farther observation, and forgetting that his 
assumed character of a domestic threw him into the rear 15 
of his supposed master, rode pensively out of the quadrangle, 
not without waving his hand repeatedly in answer to the 
signals which were made by the countess with her kerchief 
from the windows of her apartment. 

While his stately form vanished under the dark arch-20 
way which led out of the quadrangle, Varney muttered: 

“ There goes fine policy — the servant before the master ! 
then, as he disappeared, seized the moment to speak a word 
with Foster. “ Thou look’ st dark on me, Anthony, he said, 
“as if I had deprived thee of a parting nod of my lord; but 25 
I have moved him to leave thee a better remembrance for 
thy faithful service. See here ! a purse of as good gold as 
ever chinked under a miser’s thumb and forefinger Ay, 
count them, lad,” said he, as Foster received the gold with 
a grim smile, “and add to^them the goodly remembrance 30 

he gave last night to Janet.” ^ ± 

“How’s this! — how’s this! „ said Anthony Foster, 

hastily; “gave he gold to Janet?” 

“Ay man, wherefore not? does not her service to his 

fal ‘‘ai y s h r Sltv,?rol 0 o n n ? ’’t” said Foster: “she shall return 35 
it. I know his dotage on one face is as brief as it is deep. 
His affections are as fickle as the moon.” 

“Whv Foster, thou art mad; thou dost not hope for 
such good fortune as that my lord should cast an eye on 4 o 
Janet? Who, in the fiend’s name, would listen to the thrush 
when the nightingale is singing?” 

“ Thrush or nightingale, all is one to the fowler; and, Mas 





82 


KENILWORTH 


ter Varney, you can sound the quail-pipe most daintily to 
wile wantons into his nets. I desire no such devil's prefer¬ 
ment for Janet as you have brought many a poor maiden 
to. Dost thou laugh? I will keep one limb of my family 
5 at least, from Satan's clutches, that thou mayst relv on 
She shall restore the gold." 

Ay or give it to thy keeping, Tony, which will serve 
as well, answered Varney; “but I have that to say which 
is more serious. Our lord is returning to court in an evil 1 
io humour for us." 

How meanest thou?" said Foster. “Is he tired already 
°l j P rett y to y — his plaything yonder ? He has pur¬ 
chased her at a monarch's ransom, and I warrant me he I 
rues his bargain." 

a whit ' Ton y” answered the master of the horse; 

he dotes on her, and will forsake the court for her; then 
down go hopes, possessions, and safety: church lands are 
resumed, Tony, and well if the holders be not called to ac¬ 
count in Exchequer." 

2° “That were ruin," said Foster, his brow darkening with 
apprehensions; “ and all this for a woman ! Had it been 
for his soul's sake, it were something; and I sometimes wish > 
1 myself could fling away the world that cleaves to me, and i 
be as one of the poorest of our church." 

2 5 Thou ar ^ enough to be so, Tony," answered Varney; 

but I think the devil will give thee little credit for thy 
compelled poverty, and so thou losest on all hands. But 
follow my counsel, and Cumnor Place shall be thy copyhold ‘ 
;yet. Say nothing of this Tressilian’s visit — not a word I 
. 30 until I give thee notice." 

“ And wherefore, I pray you? ” asked Foster, suspiciously. 1 
Dull beast!' replied Varney; “in my lord's present hu- u 
mour it were the ready way to confirm him in his resolution 1 
■of retirement, should he know that his lady was haunted 1 
"35 with such a spectre in his absence. He would be for play- 
ing the dragon himself over his golden fruit, and then, Tony 1 
thy occupation is ended. A word to the wise. Farewell — jj 
I must follow him." 

He turned his horse, struck him with the spurs, and rode 
40 off under the archway in pursuit of his lord. 

“Would thy occupation were ended, or thy neck broken, 
damned pander !" said Anthony Foster. “ But I must fol¬ 
low his beck, for his interest and mine are the same, and he 





KENILWORTH 


83 , 


can wind the proud earl to his will. Janet shall give me 
those pieces though; they shall be laid out in some way tor 
God’s service, and I will keep them separate m my strong- 
chest till I can fall upon a fitting employment for them 
No contagious vapour shall breathe on Janet: she shai 5, 
remain pure as a blessed spirit, were it but to pray God tor 
her father. I need her prayers, for I am at a hard pass. 
Strange reports are abroad concerning my way of li e.. 
The congregation look cold on me, and when Master Hold- ^ 
forth spoke of hypocrites being like a whited sepulchre, xo 
which within was full of dead men’s bones, methought he 
looked full at me. The Romish was a comfortable fa th, 
Lambourne spoke true in that. A man had but tofc Mow 
his thrift by such ways as offered — tell his beads hea J 
a mass — confess, and be absolved. These Puritans tread 15 
a harder and a rougher path; but I will try and I wi ?> 
read my Bible for an hour ere I again open mine iron chest 

Varney, meantime, spurred after his lord, whom he found 
waiting for him at the postern gate of the park. 

- You waste time, Varney,” said the ear , “ and ^jrfses^ 2 o 
I must be at Woodstock 0 before I can safely lay aside my 
disguise, and till then I journey in some peril., Varney . 

“It is but two hours’ brisk riding, my lord, said Varney, 
“for me I only stopped to enforce your commands of care 
and secrecv on yonder Foster, and to inquire about the abode 25 
of the gentleman whom I would promote to your lordship s 

"efit for the^nmridian of^ the ante-chamber,° think’st 

th “He promiseVweil, my lord,” replied Varney; “but if 3° 
your lordship were pleased to ride on, I could go back to 
Sumnor, and bring him to your lordsh.p at Woodstock 

be «°\Vhy°'l am asleep there, thou knowest, at this moment^ 
said the earl; “ and I pray you not to spare horse-flesh, that 35 

y 0 So'saying he gave Ws horse the spur, and proceeded on his 
iournev while Varney rode back to Cumnor by the public 
road avoiding the park. The latter alighted at the door of 
the bonny Black Bear, and desired to speak with Mastery 
Michael Lambourne. That respectable character was not 
long 1 of appearing before his new patron, but it was with 
downcast looks. 




84 


KENILWORTH 


“Tb° u kast lost the scent,” said Varney, “of thy com- 

+^ G 4.i^ reS i S ^^ a - n ‘ ^ know ^ by thy hang-dog visage: Is 
this thy alacrity, thou impudent knave ? ” 

“Cog’s wounds 0 !” said Lambourne, “there was never a 
5 trail so finely hunted. I saw him to earth at mine uncle’s 
hG1 l e fl u . ck to h . im like bees-wax — saw him at supper — 
watched him to his chamber, and presto — he is gone next 
morning, the very hostler knows not where ! ” 
t( “This sounds like practice upon me, sir,” replied Varney 
IO a ?o. proves so > by my soul you shall repent it!” 

bir, the best hound will be sometimes at fault,” answered 
Lambourne; “how should it serve me that this fellow 
shouid have thus vanished? You may ask mine host, 
Gll f s Cosbng — ask the tapster and hostler — ask Cicely, 
15 and the whole household, how I kept eyes on Tressilian 
whfie he was on foot. On my soul, I could not be expected 
to watch him like a sick-nurse, when I had seen him fairly 
abed in his chamber. That will be allowed me, surely.” 
Varney did, in fact, make some inquiry among the house- 
2° hold, which confirmed the truth of Lambourne’s statement 
1 ressihan, it was unanimously agreed, had departed sud- 
ul an T d ^expectedly, betwixt night and morning ” 

But I will wrong no one,” said mine host; “he left on 
the table in his lodging the full value of his reckoning with 
25 some allowance to the servants of the house, which was the 
less necessary that he saddled his own gelding, as it seems 
without the hostler s assistance” 

Thus satisfied of the rectitude of Lambourne’s conduct 
barney^began to talk to him upon his future prospects and 

3 iwT de ^ wklch ke meant to bestow himself, intimating 
thau he understood from Foster he was not disinclined to 
enter into the household of a nobleman. 
a9 a T> e you ” sai d he, “ever been at court?” 

, No ’i 1 rephed Lambourne; “but ever since I was ten 

3 made my fortune/’'° nCe * W66k that 1 Was there ’ and 

said'Varney 6 ^AveTo^nlldyV™ C ° meS DOt true ’■” 

“ S™ ; ” replied Lambourne; «I love pleasure.” 

Varnpl^ “i? sufficlent answer, and an honest one,” said 

the ret y ainPr^?°7 aUght + -° f Si e re T uisit es expected from 
ine retainer ot a rising courtier ? ” 

“I have imagined them to myself, sir,” answered Lam- 


KENILWORTH 


85 


bourne* “as, for example, a quick eye, a close mouth a 
ready and bold hand, a sharp wit and a blunt conscience^ 

“ And thine, I suppose,” said Varney, has had its edg 

bl ^cannot 8 remember, sir, that its edge was ever over kee^ 5 
renlied Lambourne. “ When I was a youth I had some 
few whimsies, but I rubbed them partly out of my recollec¬ 
tion on the rough grindstone of the remamed 

I washed out in the broad waves of the Atlantic. 

“Thou hast served, then, in the Indies? f 

“In both East and West,” answered the candidate tor 
court service, “by both sea and land; I have served both 
the Portugal and the Spaniard, both the Eutchman and the 
Frenchman and have made war on our own account with 
a crew of jolly fellows who held there was no peace beyond 15 

th “Thou mayst do me, and my lord, and I 

cprvioe” said Varney, after a pause. But observe, 1 
know the world, and answer me truly, canst thou be ^ 

fai «DM ? vou not know the world,” answered Lambourne, 
“it were my duty to say ‘ ay/ without fur , ther f cl ™ mS S C ®s 
and to swear to it with life and honour, and so fort . 

I S eems to me that your worship is one who desires rather 
honest truth than politic falsehood, I reply to you that I 25 
ran be Wthful to the gallows’ toot, ay, to the loop that 
dangles from it, if I am well used and well recompensed 

n °‘<To h ?hy‘other virtues thou canst add, no doubt,” said 
vJey. i/a jeering tone, “ the knack of seeming senousand 30 

rplio-ious when the moment demands it: 

would cost me nothing,” said Lambourne , “ to sa,; 
‘yes,’ but to speak on the square 1 A nthonv Foster 

hto’ whTch he called religion, though it that sort of 

J godliness which always ended in being great gam. 

1 '“wen/^replieTvarney; “if thou hast no hypocrisy, hast 

th “ V Ay° t sfr ^said'l.amtourrK!? 1 " that shall take hedge and 
Hbpt/with’my lord duke’s best hunters. When I made 
a little mistake on Shooter’s Hill,» and stopped an ancient 






86 


T1 


KENILWORTH 


P° uches yere better lined than his brain-pan, 
hue and cry.°» Cam me Sheer in Spite of the ^oie 

eT ,^ Sa< ^ d T le bim then instantly, and attend me,” said Var- 
5 ney. Leave thy clothes and baggage under charge of 
mme host and I will conduct thee to a S S erv"ce in whteh °f 

but U thte n0 o^ ter thyS6lf ’ the feUlt ShaU not be 

an<i beart y ! ” said Lambourne, “and I am 
1 ? Stant ' K J nave > hostler - saddle my n£ S 
without the loss of one second, as thou dost value the safetv 

for tUe° f n dle - Pr ^ ty ? cely - take half this pume tocom y 
tort thee for my sudden departure.” 

'Gogsnouns 0 replied the father, “Cicely wants no 

5 such token from thee. Go away, Mike, and gather grace if 

ngrows 1 !”*’ th0Ugh 1 think thou g° e st not to the land where 

Let me look at this Cicely of thine, mine host ” said 

20 1 h t VG h f a u rd much talk of her beauty.” ’ 

+ a ® unb i urn . t beauty,” said mine host, “well ouali- 
> an 1 OU m ram and wind , but little calculated to please 
such critical gallants as yourself. She keeps her chamber 

glaDCe ° f SUCh 

2 LoC W ® U ’ peace be with her > m y good host,” answered Var- 
“hne° Ur horses , are impatient, we bid you good day” 

Goshng 7 DeP g ° With y ° U ’ S ° ^ S you?” y said . 

m « v y ’ SUcb .* s , b ' s Purpose,” answered Richard Varnev 

are I sav ^ ” replied mine host-^ ey ou 

are, 1 say fully right, my kinsman. Thou hast got a ™ 
horse, see thou light not unaware upon a halte? or if thno 

Purn^e ed of b f e or de “2?^ by means * whichX I 

I charge thee to^nd thls „g entleman renders not unlikely^ 

•• £■;:«“££ ; 


35 



KENILWORTH 


87 


“ Ay, worshipful sir, if you like my terms as well as I like 
yours.” 

“And what are your terms?” demanded Varney. 

“If I am to have a quick eye for my patron’s interest, he 
must have a dull one towards my faults,” said Lambourne. 5 
“Ay,” said Varney, “so they lie not so^grossly open that 
he must needs break his shins over them.” 

“Agreed,” said Lambourne. “Next, if I run down 
game, I must have the picking of the bones.” 

“That is but reason,” replied Varney, so that your 10 

betters are served before you.” , 

“Good,” said Lambourne; “and it only remains to be 
said, that if the law and I quarrel, my patron must bear 
me out, for that is a chief point.” , 

“ Reason again,” said Varney, if the quarrel hath hap- 15 

pened in your master’s service.” „ . , 

“ For the wage and so forth, I say nothing, proceeded 
Lambourne; “it is the secret guerdon that I must live by. 

“Never fear,” said Varney; “thou shalt have clothes and 
spending money to ruffle it with the best of thy degree, for 20 
thou goest to a household where you have gold, as they say, 

by “ t That y iumps° all with my humour,” replied Michael 
Lambourne; “and it only remains that you tell me my 

mi “My ^ar^’is Master Richard Varney,” answered his 

C °“ 1 But 1 Imean,” said Lambourne, “the name of the noble 
lord to whose service you are to prefer me. WQ _ +or o» 
“How, knave, art thou too good to call me master. 3° 
said Varney, hastily;I would have thee bold to others, 

bU ‘‘i n0 crave Cy your m worship’s pardon,” said Lambourne; 
“but you seem familiar with Anthony Foster, now I am 

familiar with Anthony myself.” ... ,, 35 

“Thou art a shrewd knave, I see, replied Varney. 

“ Mark me — I do indeed propose to introduce thee into a 
nobleman’s household; but it is upon my person thou wilt 
chiefly wait, and upon my countenance that thou wilt depend, 
famhis master of horse. Thou wilt soon bow his name; 40 
it is one that shakes the council and wields the state 

“ Bv this light, a brave spell to conjure with, said Lam 
bourne, “if a man would discover hidden treasures l 


25 





88 


KENILWORTH 


“Used with discretion, it may prove so,” replied Varney; 
“but mark — if thou conjure with it at thine own hand, it 
may raise a devil who will tear thee in fragments” 

“Enough said,” replied Lambourne; “1 will not exceed 
5 my limits.” 

The travellers then resumed the rapid rate of travelling 
which their discourse had interrupted, and soon arrived at 
the royal park of Woodstock. This ancient possession of 
the crown of England was then very different from what it 
iohad been when it was the residence of the fair Rosamond, 0 
and the scene of Henry the Second’s secret and illicit 
amours; and yet more unlike to the scene which it exhibits 
in the present day, when Blenheim House 0 commemorates 
the victory of Marlborough, and no less the genius of Van- 
15 burgh, though decried in his own time by persons of taste 
far inferior to his own. It was, in Elizabeth’s time, an 
ancient mansion in bad repair, which had long ceased to 
be honoured with the royal residence, to the great impover¬ 
ishment of the adjacent village. The inhabitants, however, 
20 had made several petitions to the Queen to have the favour 
of the sovereign’s countenance occasionally bestowed upon 
them; and upon this very business, ostensibly at least, 
was the noble lord whom we have already introduced to 
our readers a visitor at Woodstock. 

25 Varney and Lambourne galloped without ceremony into 
the courtyard of the ancient and dilapidated mansion, which 
presented on that morning a scene of bustle which it had 
not exhibited for two reigns. Officers of the earl’s house¬ 
hold, livery-men and retainers, went and came with all the 
30 insolent fracas which attaches to their profession. The 
neigh of horses and the baying of hounds were heard; for 
my lord, in his occupation of inspecting and surveying the 
manor and demesne, was of course provided with the means 
of following his pleasure in the chase or park, said to have 
35 been the earliest that was inclosed in England, and which 
was well stocked with deer that had long roamed there un¬ 
molested. Several of the inhabitants of the village, in anx¬ 
ious hope of a favourable result from this unwonted visit, 
loitered about the courtyard, and waited the great man’s 
40 coming forth. Their attention was excited by the hasty 
arrival of Varney, and a murmur ran amongst them, “The 
earl’s master of the horse!” while they hurried to bespeak 
favour by hastily unbonneting and proffering to hold the 


EE NIL WORTH 


89 


bridle and stirrup of the favoured retainer and his attend- 

“ Stand somewhat aloof, my masters!” said Varney, 
haughtily, “ and let the domestics do their office. 

The mortified citizens and peasants fell back at the signal; 5 
while Lambourne, who had his eye upon his 'superior s 
deportment, repelled the services of those who offered to 
assist him with yet more discourtesy: “Stand back, Jack 
peasant, with a murrain to you, and let these knave footmen 

do their duty!” , . ,, , 10 

While they gave their nags to the attendants of the house¬ 
hold, and walked into the mansion with an air ?f supe¬ 
riority which long practice and consciousness of birth ren¬ 
dered natural to Varney, and which Lambourne endeavoured 
to imitate as well as he could, the poor inhabitants of 15 
Woodstock whispered to each other: Well-a-day Lod 

save us from all such misproud princoxes! An the master 
be like the men, why, the fiend may take all, and yet have 

no more than his due.” , 

“ Silence, good neighbours! said the bailiff, keep 20 
tongue betwixt teeth; we shall know more by and by. But 
never will a lord come to Woodstock so welcome as bluff 
old King Harry! He would horsewhip a fellow one day 
with his own royal hand, and then fling him an handful of 
silver groats, with his own broad face on them, to nomt 25 

th a ly^resfbewith him ! ” echoed the auditors; “ it will be 
lone ere this Lady Elizabeth horsewhip any of us. 

“There is no saying," answered the: bailiff “Mean¬ 
while, patience, good neighbours, and let us comfort our-3 
selves by thinking that we deserve such notice at her 

Gr Meanwhfie Varney, closely followed by his new dependant 
made his way to the hall, where men of more note and 
consequence than those left in the courtyard awaited the 35 
appearance of the earl, who as yet kept his chamber. All 
paid court to Varney, with more or less deference, as suited 
their own rank, or the urgency of the business which brought 
them to his lord’s levee. To the general question of, 
“When comes my lord forth, Master Varney?” he gave40 
brief answers, as, “See you not my boots? I am but just 
returned from Oxford, and know nothing of it, and the 
like, until the same query was put in a higher tone by a 






90 


KENILWORTH 


personage of more importance. “I will inquire of the 
chamberlain, Sir Thomas Copely,” was the reply. The 
chamberlain, distinguished by his silver key, answered, that 
the earl only awaited Master Varney’s return to come down, 
5 but that he would first speak with him in his private chamber. 
Varney, therefore, bowed to the company, and took leave 
to enter his lord’s apartment. 

There was a murmur of expectation which lasted a few 
minutes, and was at length hushed by the opening of the 
io folding-doors at the upper end of the apartment, through 
which the earl made his entrance, marshalled by his cham¬ 
berlain and the steward of his family, and followed by 
Richard Varney. In his noble mien and princely features; 
men read nothing of that insolence which w T as practised 
15 by his dependants. His courtesies were, indeed, measured 
by the rank of those to whom they were addressed, but even 
the meanest person present had a share of his gracious, 
notice. The inquiries which he made respecting the con¬ 
dition of the manor, of the Queen’s rights there, and of the 
20 advantages and disadvantages which might attend her 
occasional residence at the royal seat of Woodstock, seemed 
to show that he had most earnestly investigated the matter 
of the petition of the inhabitants, and with a desire to for¬ 
ward the interest of the place. 

25 “Now the Lord love his noble countenance,” said the 
bailiff, who had thrust himself into the presence-chamber; 
“he looks somewhat pale. I warrant him he hath spent 
the whole night in perusing our memorial. Master Tough- 
yarn, who took six months to draw it up, said it would take 
30 a week to understand it; and see if the earl hath not knocked 
the marrow out of it in twenty-four hours ! ” 

The earl then acquainted them that he should move their 
sovereign to honour Woodstock occasionally with her resi¬ 
dence during her royal progresses, that the town and its 
35 vicinity might derive from her countenance and favour the 
same advantages as from those of her predecessors. Mean¬ 
while, he rejoiced to be the expounder of her gracious pleas¬ 
ure, in assuring them that, for the increase of trade and 
encouragement of the worthy burgesses of Woodstock, her 
40 Majesty was minded to erect the town into a staple for wool. 
This joyful intelligence was received with the acclamations 
not only of the better sort who were admitted to the audience 
chamber, but of the commons who awaited without. 




KENILWORTH 


91 


The freedom of the corporation was presented to the earl 
upon knee by the magistrates of the place, together with a 
nurse of gold pieces, which the earl handed to Varney, who, 
on his part, gave a share to Lambourne, as the most accept¬ 
able earnest of his new service. „ , , , 5 

The earl and his retinue took horse soon after to return to 
eourt accompanied by the shouts of the inhabitants of 
Woodstock, who made the old oaks ring with re-echoing, 

« Long live Queen Elizabeth and the noble Earl of Leicester . 
Th^frblnitv and courtesy of the earl even threw a gleam 10 
of ooDularity over his attendants, as their haughty deport- 
obscured that of their master; and men 
touted “ Long We to the earl and to his gallant followers ” 

2 Varney ancfLambourne each in his rank, rode proudly 

through the streets of Woodstock. 





CHAPTER VIII 


Host. I will hear you, Master Fenton ; 

And I will, at least, keep your counsel. 

Merry Wives of Windsor. 

It becomes necessary to return to the detail of those cir- 
cumstances which accompanied, and indeed occasioned, the 
sudden disappearance of Tressilian from the sign of the 
Black Bear at Cumnor. It will be recollected that this 
^ f en ^!f ma n, after his rencounter with Varney, had returned 
to Biles Gosling s caravansary, where he shut himself up in 
his own chamber, demanded pen, ink, and paper, and an¬ 
nounced his purpose to remain private for the day. In the 
evening he appeared again in the public room, where Michael 
IO r' 3 , 1 **.urne, who had been on the watch for him, agreeably 
to his engagement to Varney, endeavoured to renew his 
acquaintance with him, and hoped he retained no unfriendly 
recollection of the part he had taken in the morning scuffle. 

But Tressilian repelled his advances firmly, though with 
15 civility. Master Lambourne,” he said, “I trust I have 
recompensed to your pleasure the time you have wasted on 
me. Under the show of wild bluntness which you exhibit, 
1 know you have sense enough to understand me when I 
say frankly, that the object of our temporary acquaintance 
20 k® en accomplished, we must be strangers to each 

other m future.” 

“Voto!” said Lambourne, twirling his whiskers with one 
+T? nd f ras P in § the hilt °f his weapon with the other; 

h,t thought that this usage was meant to insult me-” 

You wouid bear it with discretion, doubtless,” inter¬ 
rupted rressilian, “as you must do at any rate. You know 
too well the distance that is betwixt us to require me to 
explain myself farther. Good evening.” 

So saying, he turned his back upon his former corn¬ 
s ' 5 pamon, and entered into discourse with the landlord Mi¬ 
chael Lambourne felt strongly disposed to bully; but his 
wrath died away in a few incoherent oaths and ejaculations 

92 


25 





KENILWORTH 


93 


and he sank unresistingly under the ascendency which supe¬ 
rior spirits possess over persons of his habits and f d ®^ rl P^ 10 ^' 

He remained moody and silent m a corner of the apa 
ment paying the most marked attention to every motion of 
his^ate companion, against whom he began "°w to nourish 5 
a ouarrel on his own account, which he trusted to avenge 
hv the execution of his new master Varney’s directions. 
The hour of supper arrived, and was followed by that of 
repose? when Tressilian, like others, retired to his sleeping-^ 

aP He tm ha I d'not been in bed long, when the train of sad- 
reveries which supplied the place of rest m his disturbed 
mind, was suddenly interrupted by the jar of a door on 
its hinaes and a light was seen to glimmer m the apart 
ment Tressilian, who was as brave as steel, sprang from 15 
Ms bed at this alarm, and had laid hand upon his sword 
when he was prevented from drawing it by a voice which 
said: “B^ot too rash with your rapier, Master Tres- 
Lilian It is I, vour host, Giles Gosling. 

At the same time, unshrouding the dark lantern, which 20 
had hitherto only emitted an inMstinct glimmer the good^y 
aspect and figure of the landlord of the Black Bear was 

visibly presented to his astonished guest Tressiiian 

“What mummery is this, mine host. said 
« Ha^e you suppedas jollily as last night, and so mistaken *5 
your chamber? or is midnight a time for masquerading 

14 “Go to, thou art but a fool, man,” sa‘d Tres^dian^ ^hy 35 
i.momon i« beneath my resentment, and, besides, wiry 
Stthou thtok X had quarrelled with any one whom- 

S ° “ V OhV'sir ” replied the innkeeper, “ there was a red spot on 

-yche^oni.which boded 
the conjunction of Mars and Batura we re 

W -W -a 



94 


KENILWORTH 


all things showed your hand and your hilt had been late> 
acquainted/’ 

“ Well, good mine host, if I have been obliged to draw my 
sword, said Tressilian, “why should such a circumstance 
5 letch thee out of thy warm bed at this time of night ? Thoi 
seest the mischief is all over.” 

Under favour, that is what I doubt. Anthony Foster irt 1 
? ( J?; n ^ erous ™ an ’ def< r nded by strong court patronage, whic’ 
hath borne him out in matters of very deep concernmen' j 
i° And then my kinsman — why, I have told you what he ij 
and if these two old cronies have made up their old acquain 
ance. I would not, my worshipful guest, that it should bet 
thy cost. I promise you, Mike Lambourne has been maki 1 
very particular inquiries at my hostler, when and which \f' ' 
iS you ride. Now, I would have you think, whether you n 
not have done or said something for which you may be wa 1 , 
laid and taken at disadvantage.” 'Ane 

“ Thou art an honest man, mine host,” said Tressilir - 
alter a moment’s consideration, “and I will deal frank l 
20 with thee. If these men’s malice is directed against me 
as I deny not but it may — it is because they are the agen 
ol a more powerful villain than themselves.” 

T°“ n ^faster Richard Varney, do you not?” sa 
the landlord; ‘he was at Cumnor Place yesterday, ai 
25 came not thither so private but what he was espied by on 
who told me. J 

“ I mean the same, mine host.” 

n° F *I 0 n S f. ake ’ worshipful Master Tressilian." 
said the honest Gosling, look well to yourself Tm 
3 ° Varney is the protector and patron of Anthony Foster 
who holds under him, and by his favour, some lease of yon- 

Snf n ir d KK he Pa**. Yarney got a large grant of 
lands of the abbacy of Abingdon, and Cumnor Place amo; 
others, from his master, the Earl of Leicester. Men 
35 he can do everything with him, though I hold the earl 
^| 0 °r +if n ®bleman to employ him as some men talk 
niSt en the ^an 1° anything — that is, anything rig 
or fitting —with the Queen, God bless her! So you 1 
what an enemy you have made to yourself.” 

4 °silian^ 11, ^ 1S d ° ne ' ^ 1 cannot hel P answered Tres-,. 

Precious, but it must be helped in some manner ” ; 
Sal d the host. “ Richard Varney - why, what between his 


KENILWORTH 


95 


-nee with my lord, and his pretending to so many old 
^vexatious claims in right of the abbot here, men fea^ 
nrmt to mention his name, much more to set themselves 
inst his practices. You may judge bj “ 

f inet niaht Men said their pleasure of Tony tester, 5 
1 not a word of Richard Varney, though all men judge 

n to be at the bottom of yonder m y st ef y t ^? u ^tte? thS 
n y. Rot nerhaos you know more of that matter xnan 

, for women, though they wear no ^^^ff e atherTor 10 
nany a blade’s exchanging a sheath of neat s leather 10 

“dotmleed know more of that poor unfortunate lady 
thoi dost, my friendly host; and so bankrupt^ I, 

si 

easonable degree of d * s 5 r ® t t 1 ° n ' answe red Tressilian; and 
1 d v bt n,Editor’ Sued ’in anxtous expectation, he 

iS B?» St. fss 

‘ 1 & /• j + + 1 n /xf StnlcP. II 


■ - ^{.“wftleTstofce ° my good host, and perhaps 

V ?ir Roger routed 35 

“ nt 

jrRoge^RoW of Devon: Oh, ay, >tis him of whom mm- 
rels sing to this hour: 



96 


KENILWORTH 


* 


He was the flower of Stoke’s red field, 

When Martin Swart on ground lay slain; 

In raging rout he never reel’d, 

But like a rock did firm remain. 

5 Ay, and then there was Martin Swart I have heard my 
grandfather talk of, and of the jolly Almains 0 whom he com¬ 
manded, with their slashed doublets and quaint hose, all 
frounced with ribands above the nether-stocks. Here’s ^ 
song goes of Martin Swart, too, an I had but memo.^ 
io for it: 


Martin Swart and his men, 

Saddle them, saddle them; 

Martin Swart and his men. 

Saddle them well.” 

15 “True, good mine host — the day was long talked of; 
* but, if you sing so loud, you will awake more listeners than 
I care to commit my confidence unto.” 

“ I crave pardon, my worshipful guest,” said mine host, 
“ I was oblivious. When an old song comes across us merry 
20 old knights of the spigot, it runs away with our discretion.” 

“Well, mine host, my grandfather, like some other 
Cornishmen, kept a warm affection to the house of York, 
and espoused the quarrel of this Simnel, assuming the 
title of Earl of Warwick, as the county afterwards, in great 
25 numbers, countenanced the cause of Perkin Warbeck, 0 
calling himself the Duke of York. My grandsire joined 
Simnel’s standard, and was taken fighting desperately at 
Stoke, where most of the leaders of that unhappy army 
were slain in their harness. The good knight to whom he 
30 rendered himself, Sir Roger Robsart, protected him from 
the immediate vengeance of the king, and dismissed him 
without ransom. But he was unable to guard him from 
other penalties of his rashness, being the heavy fines by 
which he was impoverished, according to Henry’s mode of 
35 weakening his enemies. The good knight did what he 
might to mitigate the distresses of my ancestor; and their 
friendship became so strict that my father was bred up as 
the sworn brother and intimate of the present Sir Hugh 
Robsart, the only son of Sir Roger, and the heir of his honest, 
40 and generous, and hospitable temper, though not equal 
to him in martial achievements.” 



KENILWORTH 


97 


“ I have heard of good Sir Hugh Robsart,” interrupted the 
host “ many a time and oft. His huntsman and sworn 
servant, Will Badger, hath spoke of him an hundred tunes m 
this very house — a jovial knight he is, and hath loved hos¬ 
pitality and open housekeeping more than the present 5 
fashion, which lays as much gold lace on th \seams of a 
doublet as would feed a dozen of tall fellows with beef and 
ale for a twelvemonth, and let them have their evening at 
the alehouse once a week, to do good to the publican. 

“ if you have seen Will Badger, mine host, said Tressilian, 10 
“you have heard enough of Sir Hugh Robsart; and there¬ 
fore I will but say, that the hospitality you boast of hath 
proved somewhat detrimental to the estate of his family, 
which is perhaps of the less consequence as he has but one 
daughter to whom to bequeath it. And here begins my 15 
share in the tale. Upon my father’s death now several 
years since, the good Sir Hugh would willingly have made 
me his constant companion. There was a time, however, 
at which I felt the kind knight’s excessive love for field- 
sports detained me from studies by which I might have 20 
profited more; but I ceased to regret the leisure which 
gratitude and hereditary friendship 

on these rural avocations. The exquisite beauty of Mistress 
Amy Robsart, as she grew up from childhood to woman, 
could not escape one whom circumstances obliged to be so 25 
constantlyTn her company. I loved her, m short, mine 

h °“ A^d croSed a your true loves, no doubt?” said mine host. 

“ It is the way in all such cases; and I judge it mus 

been so in your instance, from the heavy sigh you uttered 30 

eV “Thc case was different, mine host. My suit was highly 
approved by The generous Sir Hugh Robsart; it was his 
daughter who was cold to my passion. „ . 

“She was the more dangerous enemy of the two said the 35 

innkeeper. “ I fear me your suit proved a cold one. 

“She vielded me her esteem,” said Tressilian, . and 
<?pemed not unwilling that I should hope it might ripen into a 
warmer passion There was a contract of future marriage 
warm L P ttwixt us upon her father’s intercession; but, to 40 
comrdy with^her anxious°request, the execution was deferred 

fnr /twelvemonth. During this period, Richard Varney ap¬ 
peared in the country, and, availing himself of some distant 





98 


KENILWORTH 


family connexion with Sir Hugh Robsart, spent much of his 
time in his company, until, at length, he almost lived in the 
family.” 

“ That could bode no good to the place he honoured with 
5 his residence,” said Gosling. 

“No, by the rood 0 !” replied Tressilian. “Misunder¬ 
standing and misery followed his presence, yet so strangely, 
that I am at this moment at a loss to trace the gradations of 
their encroachment upon a family which had, till then, 
io been so happy. For a time Amy Robsart received the 
attentions of'this man Varney with the indifference attached 
to common courtesies; then followed a period in which she 
seemed to regard him with dislike, and even with disgust; 
and then an extraordinary species of connexion appeared to 
15 grow up betwixt them. Varney dropped those airs of pre¬ 
tension and gallantry which had marked his former ap¬ 
proaches ; and Amy, on the other hand, seemed to renounce 
the ill-disguised disgust with which she had regarded them. 
They seemed to have more of privacy and confidence to- 
20 gether than I fully liked; and I suspected that they met in 
private, where there was less restraint than in our presence. 
Many circumstances, which I noticed but little at the time — 
for I deemed her heart as open as her angelic countenance — 
have since arisen on my memory, to convince me of their 
25 private understanding. But I need not detail them — 
the fact speaks for itself. She vanished from her father’s 
house — Varney disappeared at the same time; and this 
very day I have seen her in the character of his paramour, 
living in the house of- his sordid dependant Foster, and 
30 visited by him, muffled, and by a secret entrance.” 

“And this, then, is the cause of your quarrel? Me- 
thinks, you should have been sure that the fair lady either 
desired or deserved your interference.” 

“Mine host,” answered Tressilian, “my father, such I 
35 must ever consider Sir Hugh Robsart, sits at home struggling 
with his grief, or, if so far recovered, vainly attempting to 
drown, in the practice of his field-sports, the recollection 
that he had once a daughter — a recollection which ever and 
anon breaks from him under circumstances the most pa- 
40 thetic. I could not brook the idea that he should live in 
misery and Amy in guilt; and I endeavoured to seek her 
out, with the hope of inducing her to return to her family. 
I have found her, and when I have either succeeded in my 





KENILWORTH 


99 


attempt or have found it altogether unavailing, it is my 
purpose to embark for the Virgima voyage. „ d 

F “Be not so rash, good sir,” replied Giles Gosling and 
cast not vourself away because a woman — to be bnei — is 
C a a woman y °and changed her lovers 

with no better reason than mere fantasy. And ere we proo 
this matter further, let me ask you what circumstances of 
suspicionErected you so truly to this lady’s residence, or 
rather to her place of concealment t „ PTlc;wprpd IO 

“ The last is the better chosen word, mine host, answ 
Tressilian; “and touching your question, the knowledge 
Varnev held large grants of the demesnes forme y 
belonSng to the monks of Abingdon directed me to this 
neighbourhood; and your nephew’s visit to his old comiade 
Foster gave me the means of conviction on the subject. ’ 5 
“ And what is now your purpose, worthy sir. 
mv freedom in asking the question so broadly. 

said Tressilian, “to renew my 

visit to the place of her residence to-morrow, and to' seek a 
more detailed communication with her than I have had to- 20 
day d She mustTndeed be widely changed from what she 
once was if my words make no impression upon her. 

“ Under vour favour, Master Tressilian/ said the landlord 
“ vou can follow no such course. The lady, if I understand 
von has aheady rejected your interference m the matter 
y “It ffbut too y tme,” said Tressilian; “I cannot deny it.” 
“Then marry, by What right or interest do you process a 
* lTo’rvinterference with her inclination, disgraceful as it 
maTbe to hemelf and to her parents ? Unless my judgment 
S me those under whose protection she has thrown her-30 

plainness'— come by ducking and danger in attempting to 

Ca “ C T 1 win anneal to the Earl of Leicester,” said Tressilian, 

“ against the mfamy of his favourite. He courts the severe 40 
against tne - + He dare not, for the sake of 


25 







100 


KENILWORTH 


which fame invests him. Or I will appeal to the Queen 
herself.” 

“Should Leicester,” said the landlord, “be disposed to 
protect his dependant, as indeed he is said to be very confi- 
5 dential with Varney, the appeal to the Queen may bring them 
both to reason. Her Majesty is strict in such matters, and 
if it be not treason to speak it — will rather, it is said, 
pardon a dozen courtiers for falling in love with herself 
than one for giving preference to another woman. Corragio 0 
io then, my brave guest! for, if thou layest a petition from Sir 
Hugh at the foot of the throne, bucklered by the story of 
thine own wrongs, the favourite earl dared as soon leap into 
the Thames at the fullest and deepest as offer to protect 
Varney in a cause of this nature. But to do this with any 
15 chance of success you must go formally to work; and, 
without staying here to tilt with the master of horse to a 
privy-councillor, and expose yourself to the dagger of his 
cameradoes, 0 you should hie you to Devonshire, get a 
petition drawm up for Sir Hugh Robsart, and make as many 
20 friends as you can to forward your interest at court.” 

“You have spoken well, mine host,” said Tressilian, “and 
I will profit by your advice, and leave you to-morrow 
early.” 

Nay, leave me to-night, sir, before to-morrow comes,” 
25 said the landlord. “I never prayed for a guest’s arrival 
more eagerly than I do to have you safely gone. My kins¬ 
man s destiny is most like to be hanged for something, but 
I would not that the cause were the murder of an honoured 
guest of mine. ‘ Better ride safe in the dark/ says the prov- 
3° erb, 'than in daylight with a cut-throat at your elbow.’ 
Come, sir, I move you for your own safety. Your horse and 
all is ready, and here is your score.” 

“It is somewhat under a noble,” said Tressilian, giving 
one to the host; “give the balance to pretty Cicely, vour 
.35 daughter, and the servants of the house.” 

“They shall taste of your bounty, sir,” said Gosling, “and 
you should taste of my daughter’s lips in grateful acknow¬ 
ledgment, but at this hour she cannot grace the porch to 
greet your departure.” 

40 “ Do not trust your daughter too far with your guests mv 

good landlord,” said Tressilian. 

“Oh, sir, we will keep measure; but I wonder not that 
you are jealous of them all. May I crave to know with 


KENILWORTH 


101 


what aspect the fair lady at the Place yesterday received 

y °“ I own,” said Tressilian, “ it was angry as well as confused, 
and affords me little hope that she is yet awakened from her 

^aEThat case, sir, I see not why you should play the 
champion of a wench that will none of you, and mcur the 
resentment of a favourite’s favourite, as dangerous a mon¬ 
ster as ever a knight adventurer encountered m the old 

y y XO 

StC “You do me wrong in the supposition, mine host 'gross 
wrong,” said Tressilian; “I do not desire that Amy should 
™turn thought upon me more. Let me but see her 
restored to her father, and all I have to do m Europe 
perhaps in the world — is over and ended. , 5 

“A wiser resolution were to drink a cup of sack, and 
forget her,” said the landlord. “But five-and-twenty and 
fifty look on those matters with different eyes, especially 
when one case of peepers is set in the skull of a young gaUa 
and the other in that of an old publican. I 2° 

Master Tressilian, but I see not how I can aid you m the 

““Oniy thus far, mine host,” replied Tressilian. “Keepa 
watch on the motions of those at the Place, which thou 
canst easily learn without suspicion, as aff men s news fly 25 
to the ale-bench; and be pleased to communicate the tidings 
in “g to such person^ and to no other, w o shdl brmg 
you this ring as a special token; look at it — it is of val , 
and I will freely bestow it on you. 

a “Nay, sir,” said the landlord, “I desire no recompense, 30 
hut it seems an unadvised course m me, being in a p 
line, to connect myself in a matter of this dark and perilous 

nfitnrp X hSiVC no interest in it. . , , i • 

« You and every father in the land, who would have his 
daughter released from the snares of shame, and sm, and 35 
misery, have an interest deeper than aught concerning eart 

0n<ly Weff 1 sir^^said the host, “these are brave words; and 
T do pitv from my soul the frank-hearted old gentleman, 
who has mird^ered his estate in good housekeeping for the 40 
honour of his country, and now has his daughter, who should 
£e the stey of h^ age and so forth, whisked up by such a kite 
as thisV Ivney lid though your part in the matter is 


102 


KENILWORTH 


somewhat of the wildest, yet I will e’en be a madcap for 
company, and help you in your honest attempt to get back 
the good man’s child, so far as being your faithful intelli¬ 
gencer can serve. And as I shall be true to you, I pray you 
5 to be trusty to me, and keep my secret; for it were bad for 
the custom of the Black Bear, should it be said the bear- 
warder interfered in such matters. Varney has interest 
enough with the justices to dismount my noble emblem 
from the post on which he swings so gallantly, to call in my 
io license, and ruin me from garret to cellar.” 

“Do not doubt my secrecy, mine host,” said Tressilian; 
“ I will retain, besides, the deepest sense of thy service, and 
of the risk thou dost run; remember the ring is my sure 
token. And now, farewell; for it was thy wise advice that 
15 I should tarry here as short a time as may be.” 

“Follow me, then, sir guest,” said the landlord, “and 
tread as gently as if eggs were under your foot instead of 
deal boards. No man must know when or how you de¬ 
parted.” 

20 By the aid of his dark lantern he conducted Tressilian, as 
soon as he had made himself ready for his journey, through a 
long intricacy of passages, which opened to an outer court, 
and from thence to a remote stable, where he had already 
placed his guest’s horse. He then aided him to fasten on the 
25 saddle the small portmantle which contained his necessa¬ 
ries, opened a postern door, and with a hearty shake of the 
hand, and a reiteration of his promise to attend to what 
went on at Cumnor Place, he dismissed his guest to his 
solitary journey. 


CHAPTER IX 


Far in the lane a lonely hut he found, 

No tenant ventured on the unwholesome ground: 
Here smokes his forge, he bares his sinewy arm, 

And early strokes the sounding anvil warm; 
Around his shop the steely sparkles flew, 

As for the steed he shaped the bending shoe. 

Gay’s Trivia. 


As it was deemed proper by the traveller himself, as well 
as by Giles Gosling, that Tressilian should avoid being seen 
in the neighbourhood of Cumnor by those whom accident 
might make early risers, the landlord had given him a route, 
consisting of various bye-ways and lanes, which, he was to 5 
follow in succession, and which, all the turns and short-cuts 
duly observed, was to conduct him to the public road to 

Marlborough. i . . ... 

But, like counsel of every other kind, this species of direc¬ 
tion is much more easily given than followed; and what be- io 
twixt the intricacy of the way, the darkness of the night, 
Tressilian’s ignorance of the country, and the sad and per¬ 
plexing thoughts with which he had to contend, his journey 
proceeded so slowly that morning found him only in the Vale 
of Whitehorse, 0 memorable for the defeat of the Danes in 15 
former days, with his horse deprived of a forefoot shoe — 
an accident which threatened to put a stop to his journey 
by laming the animal. The residence of a smith was his first 
object of inquiry, in which he received little satisfaction from 
the dulness or sullenness of one or two peasants, early 20 
bound for their labour, who gave brief and indifferent 
answers to his questions on the subject. Anxious at length 
that the partner of his journey should suffer as little as 
possible from the unfortunate accident, Tressilian dis¬ 
mounted, and led his horse in the direction of a little hamlet, 25 
where he hoped either to find or hear tidings of such an 
artificer as he now wanted. Through a deep and muddy 

103 


104 


KENIL WORTH 


lane, he at length waded on to the place, which proved only 
an assemblage of five or six miserable huts, about the doors 
of which one or two persons, whose appearance seemed as 
rude as that of their dwellings, were beginning the toils of 
5 the day. One cottage, however, seemed of rather superior 
aspect, and the old dame, who was sweeping her threshold, 
appeared something less rude than her neighbours. To 
her Tressilian addressed the oft-repeated question, whether 
there was a smith in this neighbourhood, or any place 
io where he could refresh his horse? The dame looked him in 
the face with a peculiar expression, as she replied: “ Smith ! 
ay, truly is there a smith; what wouldst ha’ wi’ un 
mon?” 

“To shoe my horse, good dame,” answered Tressilian; 
15 you may see that he has thrown a forefoot shoe.” 

“ Master Holiday ! ” exclaimed the dame, without return¬ 
ing any direct answer — “ Master Herasmus Holiday, 
come and speak to mon, and please you.” 

“Favete linguis, 0 ” answered a voice from within; “I 
20 cannot now come forth, Gammer Sludge, being in the very 
sweetest bit of my morning studies.” 

“Nay, but, good now, Master Holiday, come ye out, do 
ye. Here s a mon would to Wayland Smith, and I care not 
to show him way to devil; his horse hath cast shoe.” 

25 Quid, mihi cuyyi cobullo ?° }) replied, the man of learning 
from within; “I think there is but one wise man in the 
hundred, and they cannot shoe a horse without him!” 

And forth came the honest pedagogue, for such his dress 
bespoke him. A long, lean, shambling, stooping figure was 
30 surmounted by a head thatched with lank black hair some- 
what inclining to grey. His features had the cast of habitual 
authority which I suppose Dionysius 0 carried with him from 
the throne to the schoolmaster’s pulpit, and bequeathed as a 
legacy to all of the same profession. A black buckram cas- 
35 sock was gathered at his middle with a belt, at which hung 
instead of knife or weapon, a goodly leathern pen-and-ink 
case.. His ferula was stuck on the other side, like harle¬ 
quin s wooden sword; and he carried in his hand the 
tattered volume which he had been busily perusing. 

*o On seeing a person of Tressilian’s appearance, which he 
was better able to estimate than the country folks had been, 
the schoolmaster unbonneted, and accosted him with, “ Salve 
aomme. Intelligisne linguam Latinam ?°” 



KENILWORTH 


105 


Tressilian mustered his learning to reply: “Lingua 
Latina 0 hand penitus ignarus, venia tua, donane eruditis- 
sime, vernaculam libentius loquor.” 

The Latin reply had upon the schoolmaster the effect 
which the mason’s sign is said to produce on the brethren 5 
of the trowel. He was at once interested m the learned 
traveller, listened with gravity to his story of a tired horse 
and a lost shoe, and then replied with solemnity : It 

may appear a simple thing, most worshipful, to reply to you 
that there dwells, within a brief mile of these tuguna, 10 
the best faber ferrarius,° the most accomplished blacksmith, 
that ever nailed iron upon horse. Now, were I to say so, 

I warrant me you would think yourself compos voti, or, as 
the vulgar have it, a made man.” , 

“I should at least,” said Tressilian, have a direct an- 15 
swer to a plain question, which seems difficult to be obtained 

in ^is a mere sending of a sinful soul to the evil un,” 
said the old woman, “the sending a living creature to Way- 

^^Peace h Gammer Sludge!” said the pedagogue; “ pauca 
verba , 0 Gammer Sludge; look to the furmity Gammer 
Sludge; curetur jentaculum , 0 Gammer Sludge; this gentle¬ 
man is none of thy gossips.” Then turning to Tressilian, 
he resumed his lofty tone: “And so, most worshipful, you 25 
would really think yourself felix bis terque should I point 
out to you the dwelling of this same smith. 

“ Sir ” replied Tressilian, “ I should m that case have all 
that I want at present, a horse fit to carry me forward 
out of hearing of your learning.” The last words he mut- 30 

tGI “0 ^caca mens mortalium !°” said the learned man; “ well 
was it sung by Junius Juvenalis, 0 numimbus vota exaudita 

m ^Lea?ned magister,” said Tressilian, “ your erudition so 35 
greatly exceeds my poor intellectual capacity, that you must 
fxcuse my seeking elsewhere for information which I can 

be ^here d agato now,” replied the pedagogue, “how fondly 
you fly from him that would instruct you 1 Truly said Quin- 4° 

tiU “fn^s’ir let Quintilian be for the present, and answer, 
in a word, and in English, if your learning can condescend so 




106 


KENILWORTH 


far, whether there is any place here where I can have oppor¬ 
tunity to refresh my horse, until I can have him shod?” 

“Thus much courtesy, sir,” said the schoolmaster, “I can 
readily render you, that, although there is in this poor ham- 
5 let — nostra pauper a regna° -— no regular hospitium , 0 as my 
namesake Erasmus 0 calleth it, yet, forasmuch as you are 
somewhat embued, or at least tinged, as it were, with good 
letters, I will use my interest with the good woman of the house 
to accommodate you with a platter of furmity — an whole- 
io some food for which I have found no Latin phrase -— your 
horse shall have a share of the cow-house, with a bottle of 
sweet hay, in which the good woman Sludge so much abounds 
that it may be said of her cow ,fcenum habet in cornu 0 ; and if 
it please you to bestow on me the pleasure of your company, 
15 the banquet shall cost you ne semissem quidem° so much is 
Gammer Sludge bound to me for the pains I have bestowed 
on the top and bottom of her hopeful heir Dickie, whom I 
have painfully made to travel through the accidence.” 

“Now, God yield ye for it, Master Herasmus,” said the 
20good Gammer, “and grant that little Dickie may be the 
better for his accident! and, for the rest, if the gentleman 
list to stay, breakfast shall be on the board in the wringing 
of a dish-clout; and for horse-meat and man’s meat, I bear 
no such base mind as to ask a penny.” 

25 Considering the state of his horse, Tressilian, upon the 
whole, saw no better course than to accept the invitation 
thus learnedly made and hospitably confirmed, and take 
chance that, when the good pedagogue had exhausted every 
topic of conversation, he might possibly condescend to tell 
30 him where he could find the smith they spoke of. He entered 
the hut accordingly, and sat down with the learned Magister 
Erasmus Holiday, partook of his furmity, and listened to his 
learned account of himself for a good half-hour, ere he could 
get him to talk upon any other topic. The reader will 
35 readily excuse our accompanying this man of learning into all 
the details with which he favoured Tressilian, 01 which the 
following sketch may suffice. 

He was born at Hogsnorton, where, according to popular 
saying, the pigs play upon the organ — a proverb which he 
40 interpreted allegorically, as having reference to the herd of 
Epicurus , 0 of which little Horace confessed himself a porker. 
His name of Erasmus he derived partly from his father hav¬ 
ing been the son of a renowned washerwoman, who had held 






KENILWORTH 


107 


that great scholar in clean linen all the while he was at 
Oxford — a task of some difficulty, as he was only possessed 
of two shirts, “the one,” as she expressed herself, “to wash 
the other.” The vestiges of one of these camicice , 0 as Mas¬ 
ter Holiday boasted, were still in his possession, having 5 
fortunately been detained by his grandmother to cover the 
balance of her bill. But he thought there was a still higher 
and overruling cause for his having had the name of Eras¬ 
mus conferred on him, namely, the secret presentiment of 
his mother’s mind that in the babe to be christened was a to 
hidden genius, which should one day lead him to rival the 
fame of the great scholar of Amsterdam. The school¬ 
master’s surname led him as far into dissertation as his 
Christian appellative. He was inclined to think that he 
bore the name of Holiday quasi lucus a non lucendo, be- *5 
cause he gave such few holidays to his school. “ Hence, . 
said he, “the schoolmaster is termed, classically, ludi 
maqister , 0 because he deprives boys of their play. And 
yet, on the other hand, he thought it might bear a very 
different interpretation, and refer to his own exquisite art 20 
in arranging pageants, morris dances, May-day festivities, 
and such-like holiday delights, for which he assured Tres- 
silian he had positively the purest and the most inventive 
brain in England; insomuch, that his cunning m framing 
such pleasures had made him known to many honourable 25 
persons, both in country and court, and especially to the 
noble Earl of Leicester. “ And although he may now seem 
to forget me,” he said, “in the multitude of state affairs, yet 
I am well assured that, had he some pretty pastime to 
array for entertainment of the Queen s Grace, horse and 3 
man would be seeking the humble cottage of Erasmus 
Holiday. Parvo contentus, in the mean while, I hear my 
pupils parse and construe, worshipful sir and drive away 
my time with the aid of the Muses. And I have at all times 
when in correspondence with foreign scholars, subscribed 35 
myself Erasmus ab Die Fausto, 0 and have enjoyed the dis¬ 
tinction due to the learned under that title; witness the 
erudite Diedrichus Buckerschockms, who dedicated to me, 
under that title, his treatise on the letter tau. In fine, sir, 

I have been a happy and distinguished man. 

“ Long may it be so, sir ! ” said the traveller; “ but permit me 
to ask, in vour own learned phrase, Quid hoc ad Iphych boves 
— what has all this to do with the shoeing of my poor nag ? 








108 


KENILWORTH 


“Festina lente,°” said the man of learning, “we will pres¬ 
ently come to that point. You must know that, some two 
or three years past, there came to these parts one who called 
himself Doctor Doboobie, although it may be he never wrote 
5 even magister artium, 0 save in right of his hungry belly. Or 
it may be that, if he had any degrees, they were of the devil's 
giving, for he was what the vulgar call a white witch, a cun¬ 
ning man, and such-like. Now, good sir, I perceive you are 
impatient; but if a man tell not his tale his own way, how 
io have you warrant to think that he can tell it in yours ? ” 

“ Well, then, learned sir, take your way," answered 
Tressilian; “only let us travel at a sharper pace, for my 
time is somewhat of the shortest.” 

“ Well, sir,” resumed Erasmus Holiday, with the most 
15 provoking perseverance, “I will not say that this same 
Demetrius, for so he wrote himself when in foreign parts 
was an actual conjurer, but certain it is, that he professed to 
be a brother of the mystical order of the Rosy Cross, 0 a dis¬ 
ciple of Geber,° ex nomine cujus venit verbum vernaculum 0 
20 gibberish. He cured wounds by salving the weapon in¬ 
stead of the sore, told fortunes by palmistry, discovered 
stolen goods by the sieve and shears, gathered the right 
maddow and the male fern seed, through use of which men 
walk invisible, pretended some advances towards the pana- 
25 cea or universal elixir, and affected to convert good lead 
into sorry silver.” 

“In other words,” said Tressilian, “he was a quacksalver 
and common cheat; but what has all this to do with mv 
nag and the shoe which he has lost ? ” 

30 “With your worshipful patience,” replied the diffusive 
Jitters,. you shall understand that presently • 
pahenha then right worshipful, which word, according to 
our Marcus Tullius, is difficilium rerum diurna perpessio 0 ” 
this same Demetrius Doboobie, after derUng with the coun- 
35 try, as I have told you, began to acquiie fame inter maq- 
nates among the prime men of the land, and there is 
likelihood he might have aspired to great matters had not, 
according to vulgar fame.— for I aver not the thing as ac¬ 
cording with my certain knowledge — the devil claimed his 
40 right one dark night, and flown off with Demetrius, who was 
never seen or heard of afterwards. Now here comes the 
medulla the very marrow, of my tale. This Doctor Do¬ 
boobie had a servant, a poor snake, whom he employed 


KENILWORTH 


109 


in trimming his furnace, regulating it by just measure, com¬ 
pounding his drugs, tracing his circles, cajoling his patients, 
et sic de cceteris. 0 Well, right worshipful, the doctor being 
removed thus strangely, and in a way which struck the 
whole country with terror, this poor zany thinks to himself, 5 
in the words of Maro,° ‘ Uno avulso, non deficit alter’ 0 ; and 
even as a tradesman’s apprentice sets himself up in his 
master’s shop when he is dead, or hath retired from business, 
so doth this Wayland assume the dangerous trade of his 
defunct master. But although, most worshipful sir, the 10 
world is ever prone to listen to the pretensions of such un¬ 
worthy men, who are, indeed, mere saltim banqui and char- 
latani, 0 though usurping the style and skill of doctors of 
medicine, yet the pretensions of this poor zany, this Wayland, 
were too gross to pass on them, nor was there a mere rustic, T 5 
a villager, who was not ready to accost him in the sense of 
Persius, 0 though in their own rugged words: 

Diluis helleborum, certo compescere puncto 

Nescius examen? vetat hoc natura medendi; 

which I have thus rendered in a poor paraphrase of mine 20 
own: 


Wilt thou mix hellebore, who doth not know 
How many grains should to the mixture go ? 
The art of medicine this forbids, I trow. 


Moreover, the evil reputation of the master, and his strange 25 
and doubtful end, or at least sudden disappearance, pre¬ 
vented any, excepting the most desperate of men, to seek 
any advice or opinion from the servant; wherefore, the poor 
vermin was likely at first to swarf for very hunger. But 
the devil that serves him, since the death of Demetrius or 3 ° 
Doboobie, put himlm a fresh device. This knave, whether 
from the inspiration of the devil or from early education, 
shoes horses better than e’er a man betwixt us and Iceland; 
and so he gives up his practice on the bipeds, the two-legged 
and unfledged species called mankind, and betakes him 35 
entirely to shoeing of horses.” . . 

“ Indeed ! and where does h-e lodge all this time? said 
Tressilian. “And does he shoe houses jvell? Show me his 
dwelling presently.” 


110 


KENILWORTH 


U Th ^t err u pt i° n pleased not the magister, who exclaimed • 
O, caca mens mortalium ! though, by the way I used that 
quotation before. But I would the^ classTcs could afford 
> me any sentiment of power to stop those who are so wffhng 
S to rush upon their own destruction. Hear but I pray vou g 
the conditions of this man,” said he. in continuation 7 “ere 

you are so willing to place yourself within his danger -_” 

A takes no money for a’s work,” said the dame who 
stood by, enraptured as it were with the fine words and 
io learned apophthegms which glided so fluently from her 
erudite inmate, Master Holiday. But this intention 
Pl “ a peaee°» the i ^ a S 1 ster more than that of the traveller 
Peace, said he “ Gammer Sludge; know your place'if 
it be your will. Sufflamina, Gammer Sludge, and all™ 
15 «n?ri u ex P°! lnd thls matter to our worshipful guest Sir ” 

trie h t e hoiiTi ad , dreSSmg Tr ? silian ’ Uthis old woman speaks 
true, though m her own rude style, for certainly this faber 

ferrarius, or blacksmith, takes money of no one.” ^ 

00 1S a sure sig 1 n he deals with Satan,” said Dame 

“wagefif h£l C abou 0 ,-? 00d ““ W0Uld ^ 

“ The old woman hath touched it again,” said the neda- 

g ° g ^ e ’, ^u tetigxt — she hath pricked it with her 

B P i? mt ; • Thl ^1 Wayland takes no money, indeed nor 
25 doth he show himself to any one.” J a ’ nor 

“And can this madman, for such I hold him ” said tho 
traveller, “know aught like good skill of his trade?” 

Uh, sir, m that let us give the devil his due. Mulcibor 
himself with all his Cyclops, 0 could hardly amend him But 
30 assuredly there is little wisdom in taking counselTreceiv 

auto^evilT Wh ° ^ bU * t0 ° plainly in lea « ue wit » the 

a ^ e W chance of that, good Master Holiday ” 
said Tressilian, rising; “and as my horse must now have 
35 eaten his provender, I must needs thank you for voTr good 
cheer and pray you to show me this man’s residence that T 
may have the means of proceeding on my journey - ' 

do ye s h° w him, Master Herasmus ” said tho 
old dame, who was, perhaps, desirous to get her house freed 
4 oof her guest; “a’ must needs go when the devil drives ” 

Do meinus, said the magister — “I submit takino- thp 
world to witness that I have possessed thi«? , 'hr»r> & 11 

gentleman with the full injustice which he hL done, r and 




KENIL WORTH 


111 


shall do, to his own soul if he becomes thus a trinketer with 
Satan. Neither will I go forth with our guest myself, but 
rather send my pU pi1 . Ricarde ! adsis , nebulo .° ” 
u Under your favour, not so,” answered the old woman • 
you may peril your own soul, if you list, but my son shall c 
budge on no such errrand; and I wonder at you, Dominie 
Uoctor, to propose such a piece of service for little Dickie.” 

Nay, my good Gammer Sludge,” answered the precep- 
tor Ricardus shall go but to the top of the hill, and indicate 
with his digit to the stranger the dwelling of Wayland 10 
Smith. . Believe not that any evil can come to him, he having 
read this morning, fasting, a chapter of the Septuagint ° 
and, moreover, having had his lesson in the Greek Testa¬ 
ment. 


Ay said his mother, “ and I have sewn a sprig of witch’s ic 
elm in the neck of un’s doublet, ever since that foul thief 
has begun his practices on man and beast in these parts.” 

And as he goes oft, as I hugely suspect, towards this 
conjurer for his own pastime, he may for once go thither 
or near it, to pleasure us, and to assist this stranger. Ergo’ 20 
heus, Ricarde ! ° adsis, quceso, mi didascule .” 

The pupil, thus affectionately invoked, at length came 
stumbling into the room — a queer, shambling, ill-made 
urchin, who, by his stunted growth, seemed about twelve 
or thirteen years old, though he was probably, in reality, a 2 c; 
year or two older, with a carroty pate in huge disorder, a 
freckled, sunburnt visage, with a snub nose, a long chin, and 
two peery grey eyes, which had a droll obliquity of vision, 
approaching to a squint, though perhaps not a decided one' 

It was impossible to look at the little man without some 30 
disposition to laugh, especially when Gammer Sludge, seiz- 
mg upon and kissing him, in spite of his struggling and kick¬ 
ing in reply to her caresses, termed him her own precious 
pearl of beauty. 

“Ricarde” said the preceptor, “you must forthwith, 35 
) which is profecto, set forth so far as the top of the hill, and 
show this man of worship Wayland Smith’s workshop.” 

“A proper errand of a morning,” said the boy, in better 
language than Tressilian expected; “ and who knows but the 
devil may fly away with me before I come back ? ” 4 o 

“Ay, marry may un,” said Dame Sludge, “and you might 
have thought twice, Master Dominie, ere you sent my 
dainty darling on arrow 0 such errand. It is not for such 


112 


KENILWORTH 


doings I feed your belly and clothe your back, I warrant 
you! ” 

“ Pshaw ! nugce,° good Gammer Sludge/’ answered the 
preceptor; “I ensure you that Satan, if there be Satan in 
5 the case, shall not touch a thread of his garment; for Dickie 
can say his pater with the best, and may defy the foul fiend 
— Eumenides, Stygiumque nefas.° ” 

“Ay, and I, as I said before, have sewed a sprig of the 
mountain-ash into his collar,” said the good woman, “which 
io will avail more than your clerkship, I wus; but for all that, 
it is ill to seek the devil or his mates either.” 

“My good boy,” said Tressilian, who saw, from a gro¬ 
tesque sneer on Dickie’s face, that he was more likely to act 
upon his own bottom than by the instruction of his elders, 
15 “I will give thee a silver groat, my pretty fellow, if you 
will but guide me to this man’s forge.” 

The boy gave him a knowing side-look, which seemed to 
promise acquiescence, while at the same time he exclaimed: 
“I be your guide to Wayland Smith’s! Why, man, did I 
20 not say that the devil might fly off with me, just as the kite 
there (looking to the window) is flying off with one of 
grandame’s chicks?” 

“ The kite ! — the kite ! ” exclaimed the old woman in 
return, and forgetting all other matters in her alarm, has- 
25 tened to the rescue of her chicken as fast as her old legs could 
carry her. 

“ Now for it,” said the urchin to Tressilian; “ snatch your 
beaver, get out your horse, and have at the silver groat you 
spoke of.” 

30 “Nay, but tarry — tarry,” said the preceptor, “ Suffla- 
mina, Ricarde!” 

“Tarry yourself,” said Dickie, “and think what answer 
you are to make to granny for sending me post to the devil.” 

The teacher, aware of the responsibility he was incurring, 
35 bustled up in great haste to lay hold of the urchin, and to 
prevent his departure; but Dickie slipped through his 
fingers, bolted from the cottage, and sped him to the top 
of a neighbouring rising-ground; while the preceptor, de¬ 
spairing, by well-taught experience, of recovering his pupil 
40 by speed of foot, had.recourse to the most honied epithets 
the Latin vocabulary affords to persuade his return. But 
to mi anime, corculum meum,° and all such classical endear¬ 
ments, the truant turned a deaf ear, and kept frisking on 


KENILWORTH 


113 


the top of the rising-ground like a goblin by moonlight, 
making signs to his new acquaintance, Tressilian, to follow 
him. 

The traveller lost no time in getting out his horse, and 
departing to join his elvish guide, after half-forcing on the 5 
poor deserted teacher a recompense for the entertainment 
he had received, which partly allayed the terror he had for 
facing the return of the old lady of the mansion. Appar¬ 
ently this took place soon afterwards; for ere Tressilian and 
his guide had proceeded far on their journey they heard the 10 
screams of a cracked female voice, intermingled with the 
classical objurgations of Master Erasmus Holiday. But 
Dickie Sludge, equally deaf to the voice of maternal tender¬ 
ness and of magisterial authority, skipped on unconsciously 
before Tressilian, only observing that: “ If they cried them- 15 
selves hoarse, they might go lick the honey-pot, for he had 
eaten up all the honeycomb himself on yesterday even.” 


1 


CHAPTER X 


There entering in, they found the goodman selfe 
Full busylie unto his work ybent. 

Who was to weet a wretched wearish elf, 

With hollow eyes and rawbone cheeks forspent, 

As if he had been long in prison pent. 

The Faery Queene. 

“ Are we far from the dwelling of this smith, my pretty 
lad?” said Tressilian to his young guide. 

“How is it you call me?” said the boy, looking askew at 
him with his sharp grey eyes. 

5 “I call you my pretty lad — is there any offence in that, 
my boy?” 

“ No, but were you with my grandame and Dominie Holi¬ 
day, you might sing chorus to the old song of 

We three 

io Tom-fools be.” 

“ And why so, my little man,” said Tressilian. 

“Because,” answered the ugly urchin, “you are the only 
three ever called me pretty lad. Now my grandame does it 
because she is parcel blind by age, and whole blind by kin- 

15 dred; and my master, the poor dominie, does it to curry 
favour, and have the fullest platter of furmity, and the 
warmest seat by the fire. But what you call me pretty lad 
for, you know best yourself.” 

“ Thou art a sharp wag at least, if not a pretty one. But 

20 what do thy playfellows call thee ? ” 

“Hobgoblin,” answered the boy, readily; “but for all 
that I would rather have my own ugly viznomy than any 
of their jolterheads, that have no more brains in them than 
a brick-bat.” 

25 “Then you fear not this smith, whom you are going to 
see?” 

“Me fear him !” answered the boy; “if he were the devil 
folk think him, I would not fear him; but though there is 

114 


KENILWORTH 


115 


something queer about him, he’s no more a devil than you 
are, and that’s what I would not tell to every one.” 

“And why do you tell it to me, then, my boy?” said 
Tressilian. 

“ Because you are another-guess gentleman 0 than those 5 
we see here every day,” replied Dickie; “and though I am 
as ugly as sin, I would not have you think me an ass, es¬ 
pecially as I may have a boon to ask of you one day.” 

“ And what is that, my lad, whom I must not call pretty ? ” 
replied Tressilian. 10 

“Oh, if I were to ask it just now,” said the boy, “you 
would deny it me; but I will wait till we meet at court.” 

“At court, Richard! are you bound for court?” said 
Tressilian. 

“Ay — ay, that’s just like the rest of them,” replied the 15 
boy; “I warrant me you think, what should such an ill- 
favoured, scrambling urchin do at court? But let Richard 
Sludge alone; I have not been cock of the roost here for 
nothing. I will make sharp wit mend foul feature.” 

“ But what will your grandame say, and your tutor, 20 
Dominie Holiday ? ” 

“E’en what they like,” replied Dickie; “the one has her 
chickens to reckon, and the other has his boys to whip. I 
would have given them the candle to hold long since, and 
shown this trumpery hamlet a fair pair of heels, but that 25 
dominie promises I should go with him to bear share in the 
next pageant he is to set forth, and they say there are to be 
great revels shortly.” 

“ And whereabout are they to be held, my little friend?” 
said Tressilian. 3° 

“ Oh, at some castle far in the north,” answered his guide 
— “a world’s breadth from Berkshire. But our old dominie 
holds that they cannot go forward without him; and it may 
be he is right, for he has put in order many a fair pageant. 
He is not half the fool you would take him for, when he 35 
gets to work he understands; and so he can spout verses 
like a play-actor, when, God wot, if you set him to steal a 
goose’s egg, he would be drubbed by the gander.” 

“ And you are to play a part in his next show ? ” said Tres¬ 
silian, somewhat interested by the boy’s boldness of con-40 
versation and shrewd estimate of character. 

“In faith,” said Richard Sludge, in answer, “he hath so 
promised me; and if he break his word it will be the worse 


116 


KENILWORTH 


for him; for let me take the bit between my teeth, and turn 
my head down hill, and I will shake him off with a fall that 
may harm his bones. And I should not like much to hurt 
him neither," said he, “for the tiresome old fool has pain- 
5 fully laboured to teach me all he could. But enough of 
that; here are we at Wayland Smith's forge door." 

“You jest, my little friend," said Tressilian; “here is 
nothing but a bare moor, and that ring of stones, with a great 
one in the midst, like a Cornish barrow." 
io “Ay, and that great flat stone in the midst, which lies 
across the top of these uprights," said the boy, “is Way- 
land Smith’s counter, that you must tell down your money 
upon." 

“What do you mean by such folly?” said the traveller, 
15 beginning to be angry with the boy, and vexed with himself 
for having trusted such a hare-brained guide. 

“Why," said Dickie, with a grin, “you must tie your 
horse to that upright stone that has the ring in’t, and then 
you must whistle three times, and lay me down your silver 
20 groat on that other flat stone, walk out of the circle, sit 
down on the west side of that little thicket of bushes, and 
take heed you look neither to right nor to left for ten min¬ 
utes, or so long as you shall hear the hammer clink, and 
whenever it ceases say your prayers for the space you could 
25 tell a hundred, or count over a hundred, which will do as 
well, and then come into the circle; you will find your 
money gone and your horse shod." 

“My money gone to a certainty!” said Tressilian; “but 

as for the rest- Hark ye, my lad, I am not your school- 

30 master; but if you play off your waggery on me, I will take 
a part of his task off his hands, and punish you to purpose." 

“ Ay, when you can catch me ! ” said the boy; and pres¬ 
ently took to his heels across the heath, with a velocity which 
baffled every attempt of Tressilian to overtake him, loaded 
35 as he was with his heavy boots. Nor was it the least pro¬ 
voking part of the urchin’s conduct that he did not exert 
his utmost speed, like one who finds himself in danger or 
who is frightened, but preserved just such a rate as to en¬ 
courage Tressilian to continue the chase, and then darted 
40 away from him with the swiftness of the wind, when his 
pursuer supposed he had nearly run him down, doubling 
at the same time, and winding, so as always to keep near the 
place from which he started. 




KENILWORTH 


117 


This lasted until Tressilian, from very weariness, stood 
still, and was about to abandon the pursuit with a hearty 
curse on the ill-favoured urchin, who had engaged him in an 
exercise so ridiculous. But the boy, who had, as formerly, 
planted himself on the top of a hillock close in front, began 5 
to clap his long thin hands, point with his skinny fingers, and 
twist his wild and ugly features into such an extravagant 
expression of laughter and derision, that Tressilian began 
half to doubt whether he had not in view an actual hob¬ 
goblin. . 11 

Provoked extremely, yet at the same time feeling an irre¬ 
sistible desire to laugh, so very odd were the boy’s grimaces 
and gesticulations, the Cornishman returned to his horse, 
and mounted him with the purpose of pursuing Dickie at 


more advantage. x 5 

The boy no sooner saw him mount his horse than he 
hallooed out to him that, rather than he should spoil his 
white-footed nag, he would come to him, on condition he 
would keep his fingers to himself. 

“ I will make no conditions with thee, thou ugly varlet! 20 
said Tressilian; “ I will have thee at my mercy in a moment.” 

“ Aha, Master Traveller,” said the boy, “ there is a marsh 
hard by would swallow all the horses of the Queen’s Guard; 

I will into it, and see where you will go then. You shall hear 
the bittern bump and wild drake quack ere you get hold of 25 
me without my consent, I promise you.” 

Tressilian looked out, and, from the appearance of the 
ground behind the hillock, believed it might be as the boy- 
said, and accordingly determined to strike up a peace with 
so light-footed and ready-witted an enemy. “ Come down, 30 
he said “thou mischievous brat! Leave thy mopping and 
mowing, and come hither; I will do thee no harm, as I am 

^The boy answered his invitation with the utmost confi¬ 
dence, and danced down from his stance with a galliard sort 35 
of step, keeping his eye at the same time fixed on Tressilian s, 
who, once more dismounted, stood with his horse s bridle 
in his hand, breathless and half-exhausted with his fruitless 
exercise, though not one drop of moisture appeared on the 
freckled forehead of the urchin, which looked like a piece 40 
of dry and discoloured parchment, drawn tight across the 
brow of a fleshless skull. 

“And tell me,” said Tressilian, “why you use me thus, 






118 


KENILWORTH 


thou mischievous imp ? or what your meaning is by telling 
me so absurd a legend as you wished but now to put on me ? 
Or rather show me, in good earnest, this smith’s forge, and 
I will give thee what will buy thee apples through the whole 
5 winter.” 

“Were you to give me an orchard of apples,” said Dickie 
Sludge, “ I can guide thee no better than I have done. Lay 
down the silver token on the flat stone, whistle three times; 
then come sit down on the western side of the thicket of 
iogorse. I will sit by you, and give you free leave to wring 
my head off, unless you hear the smith at work within two 
minutes after we are seated.” 

“ I may be tempted to take thee at thy word,” said Tres- 
silian, “if you make me .do aught half so ridiculous for your 
15 own mischievous sport; however, I will prove your spell. 
Here, then, I tie my horse to this upright stone. I must 
lay my silver groat here, and whistle three times, sayst 
thou?” 

“Ay, but thou must whistle louder than an unfledged 
20 ouzel,” said the boy, as Tressilian, having laid down his 
money, and half ashamed of the folly he practised, made a 
careless whistle. “You must whistle louder than that, for 
who knows where the smith is that you call for? He may 
be in the King of France’s stables for what I know.” 

25 “Why, you said but now he was no devil,” replied Tres¬ 
silian. 

“ Man or devil,” said Dickie, “ I see that I must summon 
him for you;” and therewithal he whistled sharp and shrill, 
with an acuteness of sound that almost thrilled through 
30 Tressilian’s brain. “ That is what I call whistling,” said he, 
after he had repeated the signal thrice; “and now to cover 
— to cover, or Whitefoot will not be shod this day.” 

Tressilian, musing what the upshot of this mummery was 
to be, yet satisfied there was to be some serious result, by 
35 the confidence with which the boy had put himself in his 
power, suffered himself to be conducted to that side of the 
little thicket of gorse and brushwood which was farthest from 
the circle of stones, and there sat down; and, as it occurred 
to him that, after all, this might be a trick for stealing his 
40 horse, he kept his hand on the boy’s collar, determined to 
make him hostage for its safety. 

“Now, hush and listen,” said Dickie, in a low whisper; 
“you will soon hear the tack of a hammer that was never 



KENILWORTH 


119 


forged of earthly iron, for the stone it was made of was shot 
from the moon.” And in effect Tressilian did immediately 
hear the light stroke of a hammer, as when a farrier is at 
work. The singularity of such a sound, in so very lonely 
a place, made him involuntarily start; but looking at the 5 
boy, and discovering, by the arch, malicious expression of 
his countenance, that the urchin saw and enjoyed his slight 
tremor, he became convinced that the whole was a concerted 
stratagem, and determined to know by whom, or for what 
purpose, the trick was played off. IO 

Accordingly, he remained perfectly quiet all the time that 
the hammer continued to sound, being about the space usu¬ 
ally employed in fixing a horseshoe. But the instant the 
sound ceased, Tressilian, instead of interposing the space 
of time which his guide had required, started up with his 15 
sword in his hand, ran round the thicket, and confronted a 
man in a farrier’s leathern apron, but otherwise fantasti¬ 
cally attired in a bear-skin dressed with the fur on, and a 
cap of the same, which almost hid the sooty and begrimed 
features of the wearer. “Come back — come back !” cried 20 
the boy to Tressilian, “ or you will be torn to pieces — no 
man lives that looks on him.” In fact, the invisible smith 
(now fully visible) heaved up his hammer, and showed symp¬ 
toms of doing battle. 

But when the boy observed that neither his own entreaties 25 
nor the menaces of the farrier appeared to change Tres¬ 
silian’s purpose, but that, on the contrary, he confronted the 
hammer with his drawn sword, he exclaimed to the smith 
in turn: “Wayland, touch him not, or you will come by 
the worse ! the gentleman is a true gentleman, and a bold.” 30 

“So thou hast betrayed me, Flibbertigibbet?” said the 
smith; “it shall be the worse for thee !” 

“ Be who thou wilt,” said Tressilian, “ thou art in no danger 
from me, so thou tell me the meaning of this practice, and 
why thou drivest thy trade in this mysterious fashion.” 35 

The smith, however, turning to Tressilian, exclaimed, 
in a threatening tone: “Who questions the Keeper of the 
Crystal Castle of Light, the Lord of the Green Lion, the Rider 
of the Red Dragon ? Hence! avoid thee, ere I summon 
Talpack with his fiery lance to quell, crush, and consume !” 40 
These words he uttered with violent gesticulation, mouth¬ 
ing and flourishing his hammer. 

“Peace, thou vile cozener, with thy gipsy cant!” replied 






120 


KENILWORTH 


Tressilian, scornfully, “and follow me to the next magis¬ 
trate, or I will cut thee over the pate.” 

“Peace, I pray thee, good Wayland!” said the boy; 
“credit me, the swaggering vein will not pass here; you 
5 must cut boon whids.° ” 

“ I think, worshipful sir,” said the smith, sinking his ham¬ 
mer, and assuming a more gentle and submissive tone of 
voice, “ that when so poor a man does his day’s job, he might 
be permitted to work it out after his own fashion. Your 
io horse is shod, and your farrier paid. What need you cum¬ 
ber yourself further than to mount and pursue your jour¬ 
ney ? ” 

“Nay, friend, you are mistaken,” replied Tressilian; 
“every man has a right to take the mask from the face of 
15 a cheat and a juggler; and your mode of living raises sus¬ 
picion that you are both.” 

“If you are so determined, sir,” said the smith, “I can¬ 
not help myself save by force, which I were unwilling to use 
towards you, Master Tressilian; not that I fear your weapon, 
20 but because I know you to be a worthy, kind, and well- 
accomplished gentleman, who would rather help than harm 
a poor man that is in a strait.” 

“Well said, Wayland,” said the boy, who had anxiously 
awaited the issue of their conference. “ But let us to thy 
25 den, man, for it is ill for thy health to stand here talking 
in the open air.” 

“Thou art right, Hobgoblin,” replied the smith; and 
going to the little thicket of gorse on the side nearest to 
the circle, and opposite to that at which his customer had 
30 so lately couched, he discovered a trap-door curiously cov¬ 
ered with bushes, raised it, and, descending into the earth, 
vanished from their eyes. Notwithstanding Tressilian’s 
curiosity, he had some hesitation at following the fellow 
into what might be a den of robbers, especially when he 
35 heard the smith’s voice, issuing from the bowels of the earth, 
call out: “ Flibbertigibbet, do you come last, and be sure 
to fasten the trap ! ” 

“Have you seen enough of Wayland Smith now?” whis¬ 
pered the urchin to Tressilian, with an arch sneer, as if 
40 marking his companion’s uncertainty. 

“ Not yet,” said Tressilian, firmly; and shaking off his 
momentary irresolution, he descended into the narrow 
staircase to which the entrance led, and was followed by 


KENILWORTH 


121 


Dickie Sludge, who made fast the trap-door behind him, 
and thus excluded every glimmer of daylight. The descent, 
however, was only a few steps, and led to a level passage of 
a few yards’ length, at the end of which appeared the reflec¬ 
tion of a lurid and red light. Arrived at this point, with his 5 
drawn sword in his hand, Tressilian found that a turn to 
the left admitted him and Hobgoblin, who followed closely, 
into a small square vault containing a smith’s forge glowing 
with charcoal, the vapour of which filled the apartment with 
an oppressive smell, which would have been altogether 10 
suffocating, but that by some concealed vent the smithy 
communicated with the upper air. The light afforded by 
the red fuel, and by a lamp suspended in an iron chain, 
served to show that, besides an anvil, bellows, tongs, ham¬ 
mers, a quantity of ready-made horseshoes, and other 15 
articles proper to the profession of a farrier, there were also 
stoves, alembics, crucibles, retorts, and other instruments 
of alchemy. The grotesque figure of the smith, and the 
ugly but whimsical features of the boy, seen by the gloomy 
and imperfect light of the charcoal fire and the dying lamp, 20 
accorded very well with all this mystical apparatus, and 
in that age of superstition would have made some impres¬ 
sion on the courage of most men. 

But nature had endowed Tressilian with firm nerves, and 
his education, originally good, had been too sedulously im- 25 
proved by subsequent study to give way to any imaginary 
terrors; and after giving a glance around him, he again de¬ 
manded of the artist who he was, and by what accident he 
came to know and address him by his name. 

“ Your worship cannot but remember,” said the smith, 30 
“that about three years since, upon St. Lucy’s Eve,° there 
came a travelling juggler to a certain hall in Devonshire, and 
exhibited his skill before a worshipful knight and a fair com¬ 
pany. I see from your worship’s countenance, dark as this 
place is, that my memory has not done me wrong.” 35 

“ Thou hast said enough,” said Tressilian, turning away, 
as wishing to hide from the speaker the painful train of 
recollections which his discourse had unconsciously awak¬ 
ened. 

“ The juggler,” said the smith, “ played his part so bravely 40 
that the clowns and clown-like squires in the company held 
his art to be little less than magical; but there was one 
maiden of fifteen or thereby, with the fairest face I ever 


122 


KENILWORTH 


looked upon, whose rosy cheek grew pale, and her bright 
eyes dim, at the sight of the wonders exhibited.” 

“ Peace, I command thee — peace ! ” said Tressilian. 

“I mean your worship no offence,” said the fellow; “but I 
5 have cause to remember how, to relieve the young maiden’s 
fears, you condescended to point out the mode in which these 
deceptions were practised, and to baffle the poor juggler by 
laying bare the mysteries of his art as ably as if you had been 
a brother of his order. She was indeed so fair a maiden that, 
io to win a smile of her, a man might well-” 

“Not a word more of her, I charge thee !” said Tressilian. 
“ I do well remember the night you speak of — one of the few 
happy evenings my life has known.” 

“ She is gone, then,” said the smith, interpreting after his 
15 own fashion the sigh with which Tressilian uttered these 
words — “she is gone, young, beautiful, and beloved as she 
was! I crave your worship’s pardon, I should have ham¬ 
mered on another theme — I see I have unwarily driven the 
nail to the quick.” 

20 This speech was made with a mixture of rude feeling which 
inclined Tressilian favourably to the poor artisan, of whom 
before he was inclined to judge very harshly. But nothing 
can so soon attract the unfortunate as real or seeming 
sympathy with their sorrows. 

25 “I think,” proceeded Tressilian, after a minute’s silence, 
“thou wert in those days a jovial fellow, who could keep a 
company merry by song, and tale, and rebeck, as well as by 
thy juggling tricks; why do I find thee a laborious handi¬ 
craftsman, plying thy trade in so melancholy a dwelling, and 
30under such extraordinary circumstances?” 

“ My story is not long,” said the artist; “ but your honour 
had better sit while you listen to it.” So saying, he ap¬ 
proached to the fire a three-footed stool, and took another 
himself, while Dickie Sludge, or Flibbertigibbet, as he called 
35 the boy, drew a cricket to the smith’s feet, and looked up in 
his face with features which, as illuminated by the glow of 
the forge, seemed convulsed with intense curiosity. “ Thou 
too,” said the smith to him, “shalt learn, as thou well de- 
servest at my hand, the brief history of my life, and, in 
40 troth, it were as well tell it thee as leave thee to ferret it out, 
since nature never packed a shrewder wit into a more 
ungainly casket. Well, sir, if my poor story may pleasure 
you, it is at your command. But will you not taste a stoup 




KENILWORTH 


123 


of liquor ? I promise you that even in this poor cell I have 
some in store” 

“Speak not of it,” said Tressilian, “but go on with thy 
story, for my leisure is brief.” 

“You shall have no cause to rue the delay,” said the 5 
smith, “ for your horse shall be better fed in the mean time 
than he hath been this morning, and made fitter for travel.” 

With that the artist left the vault, and returned after a 
few minutes’ interval. Here, also, we pause, that the nar¬ 
rative may commence in another chapter. * 








CHAPTER XI 


I say, my lord can such a subtilty 
(But all his craft ye must not wot of me, 

And somewhat help I yet to his working), 

That all the ground on which we ben riding, 

Till that we come to Canterbury town, 

He can all clean turnen so up so down, 

And pave it all of silver and of gold. 

The Canon’s Yeoman’s Prologue — Canterbury Tales . 


The artist commenced his narrative in the following 
terms: 

“ I was bred a blacksmith, and knew my art as well as e’er 
a black-thumb’d, leathern-apron’d, swart-faced knave of 
5 that noble mystery. But I tired of ringing hammer-tunes 
on iron stithies, and went out into the world, where I became 
acquainted with a celebrated juggler, whose fingers had be¬ 
come rather too stiff for legerdemain, and who wished to 
have the aid of an apprentice in his noble mystery. I served 
o him for six years, until I was master of my trade. I refer 
myself to your worship, whose judgment cannot be disputed, 
whether I did not learn to ply the craft indifferently well ? ” 

“Excellently,” said Tressilian; “but be brief.” 

“ It was not long after I had performed at Sir Hugh Rob- 
5 sart’s, in your worship’s presence,” said the artist, “that I 
took myself to the stage, and have swaggered with the brav¬ 
est of them all, both at the Black Bull, 0 the Globe, the For¬ 
tune, and elsewhere; but I know not how, apples were so 
plenty that year that the lads in the twopenny gallery never 
o took more than one bite out of them, and threw the rest of 
the pippin at whatever actor chanced to be on the stage. So 
I tired of it, renounced my half-share in the company, gave 
my foil to my comrade, my buskins to the wardrobe, and 
showed the theatre a clean pair of heels.” 

5 “Well, friend, and what,” said Tressilian, “was your next 
shift?” 

“I became,” said the smith, “half-partner, half-domestic 
to a man of much skill and little substance, who practised 
the trade of a physicianer.” 


124 


KENILWORTH 


125 


“In other words,” said Tressilian, “you were Jack Pud¬ 
ding 0 to a quacksalver.” 

“ Something beyond that, let me hope, my good Master 
Tressilian,” replied the artist; “and yet, to say truth, our 
practice was of an adventurous description, and the phar- 5 
macy which I had acquired in my first studies for the benefit 
of horses was frequently applied to our human patients. 
But the seeds of all maladies are the same; and if turpentine, 
tar, pitch, and beef-suet, mingled with turmerick, gum- 
mastick, and one head of garlick, can cure the horse that hath 10 
been grieved with a nail, I see not but what it may benefit 
the man that hath been pricked with a sword. But my 
master’s practice, as well as his skill, went far beyond 
mine, and dealt in more dangerous concerns. He was not 
only a bold, adventurous practitioner in physic, but also, 15 
if your pleasure so chanced to be, an adept, who read the 
stars, and expounded the fortunes of mankind, genethliacally, 
as he called it, or otherwise. He was a learned distiller of 
simples, and a profound chemist — made several efforts 
to fix mercury, and judged himself to have made a fair hit 20 
at the philosopher’s stone. I have yet a programme of his 
on that subject, which, if your honour understandeth, I 
believe you have the better, not only of all who read, but 
also of him who wrote it.” 

He gave Tressilian a scroll of parchment, bearing at top 25 
and bottom, and down the margin, the signs of the seven 
planets, curiously intermingled with talismanical characters, 
and scraps of Greek and Hebrew. In the midst were some 
Latin verses from a cabalistic author, written out so fairly, 
that even the gloom of the place did not prevent Tressilian 30 
from reading them. The tenor of the original ran as follows: 

“Si fixum solvas, faciasque volare solutum, 

Et volucrem figas, facient te vivere tutum; 

Si pariat ventum, valet auri pondere centum; 

Ventus ubi vult spirat — capiat qui capere potest.” 0 35 

“I protest to you,” said Tressilian, “all I understand of 
this jargon is, that the last words seem to mean ‘ Catch who 
catch can.’ ” 

“That,” said the smith, “is the very principle that my 
worthy friend and master, Doctor Doboobie, always acted 40 
upon; until, being besotted with his own imaginations, and 
conceited of his high chemical skill, he began to spend, in 


126 


KENILWORTH 


cheating himself, the money which he had acquired in cheat¬ 
ing others, and either discovered or built for himself, I could 
never know which, this secret elaboratory, in which he used 
to seclude himself both from patients and disciples, who 
5 doubtless thought his long and mysterious absences from his 
ordinary residence in the town of Farringdon were occasioned 
by his progress in the mystic sciences, and his intercourse 
with the invisible world. Me also he tried to deceive; but, 
though I contradicted him not, he saw that I knew too 
iomuch of his secrets to be any longer a safe companion. 
Meanwhile, his name waxed famous, or rather infamous, and 
many of those who resorted to him did so under persuasion 
that he was a sorcerer. And yet his supposed advance in 
the occult sciences drew to him the secret resort of men too 
15 powerful to be named, for purposes too dangerous to be 
mentioned. Men cursed and threatened him, and bestowed 
on me, the innocent assistant of his studies, the nickname of 
the Devil’s foot-post, which procured me a volley of stones 
as soon as ever I ventured to show my face in the street of 
20 the village. At length my master suddenly disappeared, pre¬ 
tending to me that he was about to visit his elaboratory in 
this place, and forbidding me to disturb him till two days 
were past. When this period had elapsed, I became 
anxious, and resorted to this vault, where I found the fires 
25 extinguished and the utensils in confusion, with a note 
from the learned Doboobius, as he was wont to style him¬ 
self, acquainting me that we should never meet again, be¬ 
queathing me his chemical apparatus and the parchment 
which I have just put into your hands, advising me strongly 
3 o to prosecute the secret which it contained, which would 
infallibly lead me to the discovery of the grand magiste- 
rium.” 

“ And didst thou follow this sage advice?” said Tressilian. 

“ Worshipful sir, no,” replied the smith; “for, being by 
35 nature cautious, and suspicious from knowing with whom I 
had to do, I made so many perquisitions before I ventured 
even to light a fire, that I at length discovered a small 
barrel of gunpowder, carefully hid beneath the furnace, 
with the purpose, no doubt, that, as soon as I should com- 
40 mence the grand work of the transmutation of metals, the 
explosion should transmute the vault and all in it into a 
heap of ruins, which might serve at once for my slaughter¬ 
house and my grave. This cured me of alchemy, and fain 


KENILWORTH 


127 


would I have returned to the honest hammer and anvil; 
but who would bring a horse to be shod by the Devil s 
post? Meantime, I had won the regard of my honest 
Flibbertigibbet here, he being then at Farringdon with his 
master, the sage Erasmus Holiday, by teaching him a few 5 
secrets, such as please youth at his age; and after much 
counsel together, we agreed that, since I could get no prac¬ 
tice in the ordinary way, I should try how I could work out 
business among these ignorant boors by practising upon their 
silly fears; and, thanks to Flibbertigibbet, who hath spread 10 
my renown, I have not wanted custom. But it is won at too 
great risk, and I fear I shall be at length taken up for a 
wizard; so that I seek but an opportunity to leave this 
vault when I can have the protection of some worshipful 
person against the fury of the populace, in case they chance 15 

to recognise me.” „ „ , 

“And art thou,” said Tressilian, “perfectly acquainted 

with the roads in this country ? ” , 

“I could ride them every inch by midnight, answered 
Wayland Smith, which was the name this adept had as-20 


“Thou hast no horse to ride upon,” said Tressilian. 

« Pardon me,” replied Wayland, “ I have as good a tit as 
ever yeoman bestrode; and I forgot to say it was the best 
part of the mediciner’s legacy to me, excepting one or two 25 
of the choicest of his medical secrets, which I picked up 
without his knowledge and against his will.” 

“Get thyself washed and shaved then, said Tressilian, 
“reform thy dress as well as thou canst, and fling away these 
grotesque trappings; and, so thou wilt be secret and faithful, 30 
thou shalt follow me for a short time, till thy pranks here are 
forgotten. Thou hast, I think, both address and courage, 
and I have matter to do that may require both. 

Wayland Smith eagerly embraced the proposal, and pro¬ 
tested his devotion to his new master. In a very tew 35 
minutes he had made so great an alteration m his original 
appearance, by change of dress, trimming his beard and hair 
and so forth, that Tressilian could not help remarking, that 
he thought he would stand in little need of a protector, 
since none of his old acquaintance were likely to recognise 40 

hll “ My debtors would not pay me money,” said Wayland, 
shaking his head; “ but my creditors of every kind would be 


128 


KENILWORTH 


less easily blinded. And, in truth, I hold myself not safe, 
unless under the protection of a gentleman of birth and char¬ 
acter, as is your worship.” 

So saying, he led the way out of the cavern. He then 
5 called loudly for Hobgoblin, who, after lingering for an in¬ 
stant, appeared with the horse furniture, when Wayland 
closed, and sedulously covered up, the trap-door, observing, 
it might again serve him at his need, besides that the tools 
were worth somewhat. A whistle from the owner brought 
io to his side a nag that fed quietly on the common, and was 
accustomed to the signal. While he accoutred him for the 
journey, Tressilian drew his own girths tighter, and in a few 
minutes both were ready to mount. 

At this moment Sludge approached to bid them farewell 
iS You are going to leave me, then, my old playfellow ” 
said the boy; “and there is an end of all our game at bo- 
peep with the cowardly lubbards whom I brought hither to 
have their broad-footed nags shod by the devil and his 
imps ? 

20 “It is even so,” said Wayland Smith; “the best friends 
must part, Flibbertigibbet; but thou, my boy, art the only 
thing in the Vale of Whitehorse which I shall regret to leave 
behind me.” 

“Well, I bid thee not farewell,” said Dickie Sludge “for 
25 you will be at these revels, I judge, and so shall I; for if 
Dommie Holiday take me not thither, by the light of dav 
which we see not in yonder dark hole, I will take myself 
tnere! 


‘but I pray you to do 


“In good time,” said Wayland; 

30 nought rashly.” 

^ a J^ n i? W y 0 } 1 wou ld make a child — a common child of 
me and tell me of the risk of walking without leading-strings 
But before you are a mile from these stones you shall know 
by a sure token that I have more of the hobgoblin about me 
35 than you credit; and I will so manage that, if you take ad¬ 
vantage, you may profit by my prank ” 

tl ? 0U mean > b °y ? ” said Tressilian; but 
Flibbertigibbet oniy answered with a grin and a caper, and 
bidding both of them farewell, and at the same time exhort- 
4° m g them to make the best of their way from the place, he 
set them the example by running homeward with the same 
uncommon velocity with which he had baffled Tressilian’s 
former attempts to get hold of him 



KENILWORTH 


129 


*5 


“It is in vain to chase him,” said Wayland Smith, for, 
unless your worship is expert in lark-hunting, we should 
never catch hold of him; and, besides, what would it avail? 
Better make the best of our way hence, as he advises. 

Thev mounted their horses accordingly, and began to pro- 5 
ceed at a round pace, as soon as Tressilian had explained to 
his guide the direction in which he desired to travel. 

Alter they had trotted nearly a mile, Tressilian could not 
help observing to his companion, that his horse felt more 
lively under him than even when he mounted m the morning, xo 
“ Are you advised of that?” said Wayland Smith smiling. 

“ That is owing to a little secret of mine. I mixed that with 
an handful of oats which shall save your worship s heels the 
trouble of spurring these six hours at least. ? Nay, I have not 
studied medicine and pharmacy for nought. 

“ ][ trust,” said Tressilian, “ your drugs will do my horse no 

ha “No more than the mare’s milk which foaled him,” an- 
swered the artist; and was proceeding to dilate on the excel- 
hmce of his recipe, when he was interrupted by an explosion 20 
as loud and tremendous as the mine which blows up the ram¬ 
part of a beleaguered city. The horses started, and the 
riders were equally surprised. They turned to gaze m the 
direction from which the thunder-clap was heard, and be- 
held just over the spot they had left so recent y, a huge 25 
pillar 3 of dark smoke rising high into the clear blim atmos- 
sphere. “ My habitation is gone to wreck, said Wayland, 

immediately conjecturing the cause of the explosion. I 
lmmeaiareiy J * doctor’s kind intentions towards 

r y S minln\"thlt e iimb of mischief Flibbertigibbet: 30 
I mi^ht have guessed he would long to put so rare a frolic 
into "execution But let us hasten on, for the sound will 

°°Staying,°he s^rred^hiiThorse, and Tressilian also quick- 

en !"fh h is S Then 0 !’ waTt r ht“nV 0 o r f W the little imp’s token 
which h 4 promised us?” said Tressilian; “had we lingered 
near the spot) we had found it a love-token with a vengeance 
“He would have given us warning, said the smith, I 
saw him look back more than once to see if we were off — 4 ° 
’tis a very devil for mischief, yet not an ill-natured devil 
either It were long to tell your honour how I became first 
acquainted with him, and how many tricks he played me. 


35 


130 


KENILWORTH 


Many a good turn he did me too, especially in bringing me 
customers ; for his great delight was to see them sit shiver¬ 
ing behind the bushes when they heard the click of my ham- 

emfwii tl J 1 K k . Da me Nature, When she lodged a double 
S quantity of brains in that misshappen head of his, gave him 
the power of enjoying other people’s distresses, as she gave 
them the pleasure of laughing at his ugliness.” 

It may be so,” said Tressilian; “ those who find them- 
selves severed from society by peculiarities of form, if they 
ai^ n0t + n hat - e ? e com 1 mon bulk of mankind, are at least not 
altogether indisposed to enjoy their mishaps and calamities.” 

But Flibbertigibbet,” answered Wayland, “hath that 
about him which may redeem his turn for mischievous frolic: 
for he is as faithful when attached as he is tricky and malig- 
15 nant to strangers; and, as I said before, I have cause to say so ” 

Iressilian pursued the conversation no farther; and they 
continued their journey towards Devonshire without farther 
adventure, until they alighted at an inn in the town of Marl- 
orough, since celebrated for having given title to the 
20 8“ (excepting one) who^Britafn ever pro! 

duced. Here the travellers received, in the same breath 
an exampie of the truth of two old proverbs, namely, that 

of Xemselves St ' ^ that Llsteners seldom hear a good tale 

25 l he T y ? r< i in a sort of combustion when they alighted • 
insomuch, that they could scarce get man or boy to take care 
of their horses, so full were the whole household of some 
news which flew from tongue to tongue, the import of which 
, 0 fo / some tlme un able to discover. At length 

nelrly. ,they f ° Und respected matters which touched them 

1 “ is , the matter, say you, master?” answered at 

Sons 6 “ Whv h °t Stl f r ’ T n reply , t0 Tressilian s repeated 
-- 22 ®W hy ’ trul y, I scarce know myself. But here 

35 TwL £° W ’ Wh ° says that the devil hath flown 

away with him they called Wayland Smith, that won’d° 
about three miles from the Whitehorse of Berkshire this 
very blessed morning, in a flash of fire and a pillar of smoke 
and rooted up the place he dwelt in, near that old cockpit 

as cleanly as if 11 had a11 been delved X 

for' fh ' w en r !? i( i a ^P ld farm er, “the more is the pity; 
for that Wayland Smith — whether he was the devil’s 


KENILWORTH 


131 


crony or no I skill not — had a good notion of horse dis¬ 
eases, and it’s to be thought the bots will spread m the 
country far and near, an Satan has not gien un time to leave 

his secret behind un.” . 1 ,, , . 

“ You may say that, Gaffer Gnmesby, said the hostler in 5 
return; “I have carried a horse to Wayland Smith myself, 
for he passed all farriers in this country.” 

“Did you see him?” said Dame Alison Crane, mistress of 
the inn bearing that sign, and deigning to term “husband 
the owner thereof, a mean-looking hop-o -my-thumb sort of 10 
person, whose halting gait, and long neck, and meddling, 
henpecked insignificance are supposed to have given origin 
to the celebrated old English tune of “ My Dame hath a lame 

tai On this occasion he chirped out a repetition of his wife’s 15 
question: “Didst see the devil, Jack Hostler I say? 

“And what if I did see un, Master Crane? replied Jack 
Hostler, for, like all the rest of the household, he paid as 
little respect to his master as his mistress herself did. 

“Nay, nought, Jack Hostler,” replied the pacific Master 20 
Crane, “ only if you saw the devil, methmks I would like to 

know what un’s like ? ” __ , ~ 

“You will know that one day, Master Crane, said his 
helpmate, “an ye mend not your manners and mind your 
business, leaving off such idle palabras But truly , Jack 25. 
Hostler, I should be glad to know myself what like the lel- 

iow was^ dame „ ga . d the hostler> more respectfully, “as for 

what he was like I cannot tell, nor no man else, for why 1 

a never saw un.” „ 3 ° 

“ And how didst thou get thme errand done, said Gaffer 

Grimesby, “if thou seedst him not?” , ,, 

“ Why I had schoolmaster to write down ailment o nag, 
said Jack Hostler; “ and I went wi’ the ugliest slip of a boy 

for my guide as ever man cut out o’ lime-tree root to please 35 

a child withal.” . -r , 

“And what was it? and did it cure your nag, Jack 
Hostler ? ” was uttered and echoed by all who stood around. 

“ Whv how can I tell you what it was ? ” said the hostler; 

“ simply it smelled and tasted — for I did make bold to put a 40 
pea’s substance into my mouth — like hartshorn and savin 
mixed with vinegar; but then no hartshorn and 8 >mm 
wrought so speedy a cure. And I am dreading that, if Way- 


132 


KENILWORTH 


land Smith be gone, the bots will have more power over 
horse and cattle.” 

The pride of art, which is certainly not inferior in its influ¬ 
ence to any other pride whatever, here so far operated on 
5 Wayland Smith that, notwithstanding the obvious danger of 
his being recognised, he could not help winking to Tressilian, 
and smiling mysteriously, as if triumphing in the undoubted 
evidence of his veterinary skill. In the mean while, the dis¬ 
course continued. 

io “E’en let it be so,” said a grave man in black, the com¬ 
panion of Gaffer Grimesby — “ e’ en let us perish under the 
evil God sends us, rather than the devil be our doctor.” 

“Very true,” said Dame Crane; “and I marvel at Jack 
Hostler that he would peril his own soul to cure the bowels of 
15 a nag.” 

“ Very true, mistress,” said Jack Hostler, “but the nag was 
my master’s; and had it been yours, I think ye would ha’ 
held me cheap enow an I had feared the devil when the poor 
beast was in such a taking. For the rest, let the clergy look 
20 to it. Every man to his craft, says the proverb — the 
par&m to the prayer-book and the groom to his currycomb ” 

. “I vow,” said Dame Crane, “I think Jack Hostler speaks 
like a good Christian and a faithful servant, who will spare 
neither body nor soul in his master’s service. However, the 
25 devil has lifted him in time, for a constable of the hundred 
came hither this morning to get old Gaffer Pinniewinks, the 
trier of witches, to go with him to the Vale of Whitehorse to 
comprehend Wayland Smith, and put him to his probation. 

I helped Pinniewinks to sharpen his pincers and his poking- 
30 awl, and I saw the warrant from Justice Blindas.” 

“ Pooh — pooh, the devil would laugh both at Blindas and 
his warrant, constable and witch-finder to boot,” said old 
Dame Crank, the Papist laundress; “ Wayland Smith’s flesh 
would mind Pinniewinks’s awl no more than a cambric ruff 
35 minds a hot piccadilloe needle. But tell me, gentlefolks, 
if the devil ever had such a hand among ye, as to snatch 
away your smiths and your artists from under your nose 
when the good abbots of Abingdon had their own? By 
Our Lady, no ! they had their hallowed tapers, and their 
40 holy water, and their relics, and what not, could send the 
foulest fiends a-packing. Go ask a heretic parson to do the 
like. But ours were a comfortable people.” 

“Very true, Dame Crank,” said the hostler; “so said 


KENILWORTH 


133 


Simpkins of Simonburn when the curate kissed his wife — 
'They are a comfortable people/ said he.” 

“Silence, thou foul-mouthed vermin,” said Dame Crank; 
“is it fit for a heretic horse-boy like thee to handle such a 
text as the Catholic clergy?” 5 

“ in troth no, dame,” replied the man of oats; and as you 
yourself are now no text for their handling, dame, whatever 
may have been the case in your day, I think we had e en 
better leave un alone.” . , , 

At this last exchange of sarcasm, Dame Crank set up her io 
throat, and began a horrible exclamation against Jack 
Hostler, under cover of which Tressilian and his attendant 
escaped into-the house. 

They had no sooner entered a private chamber, to wtucn 
Goodman Crane himself had condescended to usher them, 15 
and despatched their worthy and obsequious host on the 
errand of procuring wine and refreshment, than Wayland 
Smith began to give vent to his self-importance. 

“You see, sir,” said he, addressing Tressilian, that I 
nothing fabled in asserting that I possessed fully the mighty 20 
mystery of a farrier, or mareschal, as the French more 
honourably term us. These dog-hostlers, who, after all, 
are the better judges in such a case, know what credit they 
should attach to my medicaments. I call you to witness, 
worshipful Master Tressilian, that nought, save the voice ol 25 
calumny and the hand of malicious violence, hath driven me 
forth from a station in which I held a place alike useful and 


honoured.” .. , . „ 

“ 1 bear witness, my friend, but will reserve my listening, 
answered Tressilian, “for a safer time; unless, indeed, you 30 
deem it essential to your reputation to be translated, like 
your late dwelling, by the assistance of a flash of fire. *or 
you see your best friends reckon you no better than a mere 
sorcerer.” 

“ Now Heaven forgive them,” said the artist, “who con- 35 
found learned skill with unlawful magic ! I trust a man may 
be as skilful, or more so, than the best chirurgeon ever 
meddled with horse-flesh, and yet may be upon the matter 
little more than other ordinary men, or at the worst no 

C °“ ] God forbid else!” said Tressilian. “But be silent just 
for the present, since here comes mine host with an assistant, 
who seems something of the least.” 




134 


KENILWORTH 


Everybody about the inn, Dame Crank [Crane] herself in¬ 
cluded, had been indeed so interested and agitated by the 
story they had heard of Wayland Smith, and by the new, 
varying, and more marvellous editions of the incident, 
5 which arrived from various quarters, that mine host, in his 
righteous determination to accommodate his guests, had 
been able to obtain the assistance of none of his household, 
saving that of a little boy, a junior tapster, of about twelve 
years old, who was called Sampson. 
io “ I wish,” he said, apologising to his guests, as he set down 

a flagon of sack, and promised some food immediately_ 

I wish the devil had flown away with my wife and my 
whole family instead of this Wayland Smith, who, I dare 
say, after all said and done, was much less worthy of the 
15 distinction which Satan has done him.” 

a “L hol u op i n l on y ith y° u > good fellow,” replied Wayland 
Smith; and I will drink to you upon that argument ” 

‘ Not that I would justify any man who deals with the 
devil, said mine host, after having pledged Wayland in a 
20rousing draught of sack, “but that—saw ye ever better 
sack, my masters? — but that, I say, a man had better deal 
with a dozen cheats and scoundrel fellows, such as this 
Wayland Smith, than with a devil incarnate, that takes 
possession of house and home, bed and board.” 

25 The poor fellow’s detail of grievances was here inter¬ 
rupted by the shrill voice of his helpmate, screaming from 
the kitchen, to which he instantly hobbled, craving pardon 
of his guests. He was no sooner gone than Wayland Smith 
expressed, by every contemptuous epithet in the language 
30 his utter scorn for a nincompoop who stuck his head, under his 
wife’s apron-string; and intimated that, saving for the sake 
of the horses, which required both rest and food, he would 
advise his worshipful Master Tressilian to push on a stage 
farther, rather than pay a reckoning to such a mean- 
35 spirited, crow-trodden, henpecked coxcomb as Gaffer 
Crane. 

The arrival of a large dish of good cow-heel and bacon 
something soothed the asperity of the artist, which wholly 
vanished before a choice capon, so delicately roasted that 
40 “the lard frothed on it,” said Wayland, “like May-dew on 
a lily ’; and both Gaffer Crane and his good dame became 
in his eyes, very painstaking, accommodating, obliging 


KENILWORTH 


135 


According to the manners of the times, the master and his 
attendant sat at the same table, and the latter observed, 
with regret, how little attention Tressilian paid to his meal. 
He recollected, indeed, the pain he had given by mentioning 
the maiden in whose company he had first seen him; but, 5 
fearful of touching upon a topic too tender to be tampered 
with, he chose to ascribe his abstinence to another cause. 

“This fare is perhaps too coarse for your worship,” said 
Wayland, as the limbs of the capon disappeared before his 
own exertions; “ but had you dwelt as long as I have done in 10 
yonder dungeon, which Flibbertigibbet has translated to the 
upper element, a place where I dared hardly boil my food, 
lest the smoke should be seen without, you would think a 
fair capon a more welcome dainty.” 

“If you are pleased, friend,” said Tressilian, “it is well. 15 
Nevertheless, hasten thy meal if thou canst, for this place is 
unfriendly to thy safety, and my concerns crave travelling.” 

Allowing, therefore, their horses no more rest than was 
absolutely necessary for them, they pursued their journey by 
a forced march as far as Bradford, where they reposed them- 20 
selves for the night. 

The next morning found them early travellers. And, not 
to fatigue the reader with unnecessary particulars, they 
traversed without adventure the counties of Wiltshire and 
Somerset, and, about noon of the third day after Tressilian s 25 
leaving Cumnor, arrived at Sir Hugh Robsart’s seat, called 
Lidcote Hall, on the frontiers of Devonshire. 


CHAPTER XII 


Ah me ! the flower and blossom of your house, 

The wind hath blown away to other towers. 

Joanna Baillie’s Family Legend. 

The ancient seat of Lidcote Hall was situated near the 
village of the same name, and adjoined the wild and exten¬ 
sive forest of Exmoor, plentifully stocked with game, in 
which some ancient rights belonging to the Robsart family 
5 entitled Sir Hugh to pursue his favourite amusement of the 
chase. The old mansion was a low, venerable building, 
occupying a considerable space of ground, which was sur¬ 
rounded by a deep moat. The approach and drawbridge 
were defended by an octagonal tower, of ancient brickwork, 
io but so clothed with ivy and other creepers thatit was diffi¬ 
cult to discover of what materials it was constructed. The 
angles of this tower were each decorated with a turret 
whimsically various in form and in size, and, therefore' 
very unlike the monotonous stone pepper-boxes which, in 
15 modern Gothic architecture, are employed for the same pur¬ 
pose. One of these turrets was square, and occupied as a 

clock-house. But the clock was now standing still_a 

circumstance peculiarly striking to Tressilian, because the 
good old knight, among other harmless peculiarities, had a 
20 hdgety anxiety about the exact measurement of time 
very common to those who have a great deal of that com¬ 
modity to dispose of, and find it lie heavy upon their hands 
— just as we see shopkeepers amuse themselves with 
taking an exact account of their stock at the time there is 
25 least demand for it. 

The entrance to the courtyard of the old mansion lay 
through an archway, surmounted by the foresaid tower but 
the drawbridge was down, and one leaf of the iron-studded 
folding-doors stood carelessly open. Tressilian hastily rode 
30 ove r the drawbridge, entered the court, and began to call 
loudly on the domestics by their names. For some time he 
was only answered by the echoes and the howling of the 
hounds, whose kennel lay at no great distance from the man- 

136 


KENILWORTH 


137 


sion, and was surrounded by the same moat. At length Will 
Badger, the old and favourite attendant of the knight, who 
acted alike as squire of his body and superintendent of his 
sports, made his appearance. The stout, weather-beaten 
forester showed great signs of joy when he recognised Tres- 5 

Sil ^Lord love you,” he said, “ Master Edmund, be it thou in 
flesh and fell ? Then thou mayst do some good on Sir Hugh, 
for it passes the wit of man — that is, of mine own, and the 
curate’s, and Master Mumblazen’s — to do aught wi un. 10 
“Is Sir Hugh then worse since I went away, Will? de¬ 
manded Tressilian. . . . „ .. , ,, 

“ For worse in body — no, he is much better, replied the 
domestic; “but he is clean mazed as it were — eats and 
drinks as he was wont, but sleeps not, or rather wakes not, 15 
for he is ever in a sort of twilight, that is neither sleeping nor 
waking. Dame Swineford thought it was like the dead 
palsy. ‘ But no — no, dame,’ said I, ‘ it is the heart — it is 

the heart.’” ,. . jrr ... 

« Can ye not stir his mind to any pastimes ? said I ressilian. 20 
“He is clean and quite off his sports,” said Will Badger; 
“hath neither touched backgammon or shovel-board, nor 
looked on the big book of harrowtry wi’ Master Mumblazen. 

I let the clock run down, thinking the missing the bell 
might somewhat move him, for you know, Master Edmund, 25 
he was particular in counting time; but he never said a 
word on’t, so I may e’en set the old chime a-towlmg again. 

I made bold to tread on Bungay’s tail too, and you know 
what a round rating that would ha’ cost me once-a-day; 
but he minded the poor tyke’s whine no more than amadge- 30 
howlet whooping down the chimney: so the case is beyond 
me ” 

“Thou shalt tell me the rest within doors, Will. Mean¬ 
while, let this person be ta’en to the buttery, and used with 
respect. He is a man of art.” ... „ , 

“ White art or black art, I would, said Will Badger, that 
he had any art which could help us. Here, Tom Butler, 
look to the man of art; and see that he steals none ^hy 
spoons, lad,” he added in a whisper to the butler who 
showed himself at alow window, “I have known as honest40 
a faced fellow have art enough to do that. 

He then ushered Tressilian into a low parlour, and went, 
at his desire, to see in what state his master was, lest the 


138 


KENILWORTH 


sudden return of his darling pupil, and proposed son-in-law, 
should affect him too strongly. He returned immediately, 
and said that Sir Hugh was dozing in his elbow-chair, but 
that Master Mumblazen would acquaint Master Tressilian 
5 the instant he awaked. 

“But it is chance if he knows you/’ said the huntsman, 

for he has forgotten the name of every hound in the pack. 
I thought about a week since he had gotten a favourable 
turn. ‘ Saddle me old Sorrel/ said he, suddenly, after he 
io had taken his usual night-draught out of the great silver 
grace-cup, and take the hounds to Mount Hazelhurst to¬ 
morrow.’ Glad men were we all, and out we had him in the 
morning, and he rode to cover as usual, with never a word 
spoken but that the wind was south and the scent would lie. 
*5 But ere we had uncoupled the hounds, he began to stare 

round him, like a man that wakes suddenly out of a dream_ 

turns bridle and walks back to hall again, and leaves us to 
hunt at leisure by ourselves, if we listed.” 

“You tell a heavy tale, Will,” replied Tressilian; “but 
20 God must help us —■ there is no aid in man.” 

“Then you bring us no news of young Mistress Amy? 
But what need I ask — your brow tells the story. Ever 
I hoped that, if any man could or would track her, it must 
be you. All’s over and lost now. But if ever I have that 
25 Varney within reach of a flight-shot, 0 I will bestow a forked 
shaft on him; and that I swear by salt and bread.” 

As he spoke, the door opened, and Master Mumblazen ap¬ 
peared — a withered, thin, elderly gentleman, with a cheek 
hke a winter apple, and his grey hair partly concealed by a 
3 o small high hat, shaped like a cone, or rather like such a 
strawberry-basket as London fruiterers exhibit at their win¬ 
dows. He was too sententious a person to waste words on 
mere salutation; so, having welcomed Tressilian with a nod 
and a shake of the hand, he beckoned him to follow to Sir 
S i chamber, which the good knight usually in- 
habited. Will Badger followed, unasked, anxious to see 
whether his master would be relieved from his state of 
apathy by the arrival of Tressilian. 

In a long low parlour, amply furnished with implements 
40 of the chase, and with silvan trophies, by a massive stone 
chimney, over which hung a sword and suit of armour some¬ 
what obscured by neglect, sat Sir Hugh Robsart of Lidcote a 
man of large size, which had been only kept within moderate 


KENILWORTH 


139 


•compass by the constant use of violent exercise. It seemed 
to Tressilian that the lethargy under which his old friend 
appeared to labour had, even during his few weeks absence, 
added bulk to his person; at least it had obviously dimin¬ 
ished the vivacity of his eye, which, as they entered, first 5 
followed Master Mumblazen slowly to a large oaken desk, on 
which a ponderous volume lay open, and then rested, as it 
in uncertainty, on the stranger who had entered along with 
him. The curate, a grey-headed clergyman, who had been a 
confessor in the days of Queen Mary, sat with a book in his 
hand in another recess in the apartment. He, too, signed 
mournful greeting to Tressilian, and laid his book aside to 
watch the effect his appearance should produce on the 

affhcted^Ossiiian, hig own eyes filling fast with ^ ars , ap- 15 
proached more and more nearly to the father of his betrothed 
bride Sir Hugh’s intelligence seemed to revive. He signed 
heavily as one who awakens from a state of stupor, a slight 
convulsion passed over his features, he opened his arms with- 
out speaking a word, and, as Tressilian threw himself into 20 
them he folded him to his bosom. „ , 

“ There is something left to live for yet, were ^ fi £st 
words he uttered; and while he spoke, he gave vent to his 
feelings in a paroxysm of weeping, the tears chasing each 
other^down his sunburnt cheeks and long white beard. 25 
« I ne^er thought to have thanked God to see my master 
weep,” said Will Badger; “ but now I do, though I am like to 

W€ “X will ask P thee no questions,” said the old knight 
“no questions — none, Edmund; thou hast not found her, 30 
-nr so found her that she were better lost. 

Tressilian was unable to reply, otherwise than by putting 

hiS ‘<IUs S en b ou°ghT S it^is''enough. But do not thou weep for 
her Edmund I have cause to weep, for she was my 35 
daughter* thou hast cause to rejoice, that she did not be- 
aaugntei, t Thou knowest best what is 

wls mv nightly prayer that I should see 
imy ind Edmund wedded; hadit been granted, it had now 

be “Be a comforted! my Wend,” said the curate addressing 
Sir Hugh^it cannot y be that’the daughter of all our hopes 
and affections is the vile creature you would bespeak her. 


140 


KENIL WORTH 


name broadly thfbSe ttdng she^sbeeome 1 Th™ Wr0Dg t0 

5 of a gv'S^J^^^^tobethetenL 
grandsire was relieved bv mv fJtW “v. f ^ arne ^ whose 
broken, at the battle of^thc battie^™ 

"was slain; out on my memorv f qnH t here Richard 

will help me_. ” ^ ' and ^ warrant none of you 

IO “ stricken'be tween fedVrookt^ 11 ^ Mu “blazen, 
grandsire of the Queen that nnw? k an £ Henr y Tudor, 
and in the year one thousand^ Yn T'T H J nrici Se P^° 
post Christum nZmf ° UT hundred and eighty-five 

15 BuVmypZ-^l^ chi “ d knows it. 

members only what it won lri m + S M?- tdd i reme mber, and re- 
has been at fault, Tressilian almost 1 Umgly forget. My brain 
away, and even yet it hunts’counter.” Ver SmCe th ° U haSt been 

20 tire to° your°apartment ^a^rd teytolr^f' had better re¬ 
physician left a composing draught and f ° ra n ttle s P ace: the 
has commanded us to use earttdv m» d our ® reat Physician 
strengthened to sustain the trials He sends'us ” W ® may be 

bear our .tr Ms’ f Q “f > “and we will 

gi e o e ssyha S i>-“’see thls^ocl ^TtelUh 080 Pd & ^ 

night she disappeared, when sKrtm!’ Edl J und ’ the very 
30 was wont, she hung about mv ™ i? ■, g ° od even > as she 
than usual; and I, S li ke an old ?ool .“m t ondIed me more 
until she took her scissors severed it M J d , h ?. b f this lock, 

- as all I was ever to see ’mlJe of he ; “ d left 14 “ ^ haa d 

35 cation of feeling must wT^rorse^th 1What a com Ph~ 

feabfSSps 

■ t b but°a lock oilman’s tSs^anJi ° Urate ~ all, 

■gJJL fer- ««£ £S,'S;*b 

their inferiority ” ’ 0 °’ can sa y scholarly things of 

, etguiZnlmr°" Said Master Mumblazen, “ qui$e bast 



KENILWORTH 


141 


“True,” said Sir Hugh, “and we will bear us, therefore, 
like men who have both mettle and wisdom in us Tres- 
silian, thou art as welcome as if thou hadst brought better 
news. But we have spoken too long dry-lipped. Amy, 
fill a cup of wine to Edmund and another to me. } hen 5 
instantly recollecting that he called upon her who could not 
hear, he shook his head, and said to the clergyman: This 
grief is to my bewildered mind what the church of Lidcote 
is to our park: we may lose ourselves among the briars and 
thickets for a little space, but from the end of each avenue io 
we see the old grey steeple and the grave of my forefathers. 

I would I were to travel that road to-morrow ! 

Tressilian and the curate joined in urging the exhausted 
old man to lay himself to rest, and at length prevailed. 
Tressilian remained by his pillow till he saw that slumber at 15 
length sunk down on him, and then returned to consult 
with the curate what steps should be adopted m these un- 

ha They° could not exclude from th ® se .f, el ^ be f^ tl0I fL M ^% 20 
Michael Mumblazen; and they admitted him the mo 
readily that, besides what hopes they entertained from jus 
sagacity, they knew him to be so great a friend to taciturnity 
that there was no doubt of his keeping counsel. He was an 
old bachelor of good family, but small fortune, and dis 
tantlv related to the house of Robsart; m virtue of which 5 
connexion, Lidcote Hall had been honoured with his resi¬ 
dence for the last twenty years. His company was agree¬ 
able to Sir Hugh, chiefly on account of his profound learning, 
which though it only related to heraldry and genealogy 
with such scraps of history as connected themselves with 3 
these subjects, was precisely of a kind to captivate the good 
old knight; besides the convenience which he found m havmg 
a friend to appeal to, when his own memory, as frequently 
happened proved infirm, and played him false concerning 
names and dates, which, and all similar deficiencies, Master 35 
Michael Mumblazen supplied with due brevity and dis 
cretion. And, indeed, in matters concerning the modern 
world he often gave, in his enigmatical and heraldic phrase, 
advice which was well worth attending to, or, m Will Badg- 
er’I language, started the game while others beat the 4 o 

bU u^r e have had an unhappy time of it with the good knight, 
Master Edmund,” said the curate. I have not suffered so 


142 


KENILWORTH 


„ w r 6 -*-■ 

5 has your time been better snwiHU ^ th curate > tell us, 
news of that unhappy maiden Iht beSomT y ° U any 
the principal joy of this broken down * ?° man y years 

our greatest unhappiness? tt q , Wn ilouse ^ ls now proved 
covered her place on-eside'nce 1 ? ” y ° U n0t at least dis ' 

IO near Oxf V ordr> Plied TreSsi,ian ' “Knowyou Cumnor Place, 
Surely, said the clergyman • “it TOQ r, 
m °™ ° for the monks of Abingdon.” a h ° USe of re ' 

Whose arms,” said Master Michael “T v>o 

I5 ma?tlets™ neyin the haU - a 

in company with th? villafa Vi^y^sC? resides ’ 

- o^SL h ^T need au 

rash^you^^man^^^answered^he^urate 111 ^!?y d "^ ud ^ ness t 

mine, saith the Lord, and I will rent? it ’ Tt Ven S ea ? e e is 

d amour, 0 ” said Mumblazen ^ 1 quei am °ns, or lacs 
silia?; iS “I lm at resol?edto y0 „ Ur ai< \?? y friends «” ^ d Tres- 
30 hospitable lawsc^Thcf QueeimsEah seduction??!? breaclfof 

3S better apply to the Earl of Leicester in tL'e”'* t ! 10u not 
justice on his servant? If he grants’it fi T 3t , pace > for 

risk of making thyself a nowwful thou dost save the 
certainly chance if, in thefastestl Versary ’ whi <* will 
master of the horse and prime favonri?KV y ° U t aceuse his 
40 “My mind revolts X™X?'Queen.” 

I cannot brook to plead mv nnKilf 1 * s , aid Tre ssilian. 
unhappy Amy’s causT- bZvl °any C'? S cause r the 
sovereign. Leicester, thou winLy^s 




KENILWORTH 


143 


but a subject like ourselves, and I will not carry my plaint 
to him, if I can do better. Still, I will think on what thou 
hast said; but I must have your assistance to persuade the 
good Sir Hugh to make me his commissioner and fiduciary 
in this matter, for it is in his name I must speak, and not in 5 
my own. Since she is so far changed as to dote upon this 
empty profligate courtier, he shall at least do her the justice 
which is yet in his power” 

“Better she died ccelebs and sine prole, 0 ” said Mumblazen, 
with more animation than he usually expressed, “ than part, 10 
per pale, the noble coat of Robsart with that of such a mis¬ 
creant !” 

“If it be your object, as I cannot question,” said the 
clergyman, “ to save, as much as is yet possible, the credit of 
this unhappy young woman, I repeat, you should apply, 15 
in the first instance, to the Earl of Leicester. He is as 
absolute in his household as the Queen in her kingdom, and 
if he expresses to Varney that such is his pleasure, her hon¬ 
our will not stand so publicly committed.” 

“You are right — you are right,” said Tressilian, eagerly, 20 
“ and I thank you for pointing out what I overlooked in my 
haste. I little thought ever to have besought grace of 
Leicester; but I could kneel to the proud Dudley, if doing 
so could remove one shade of shame from this unhappy 
damsel. You will assist me, then, to procure the neces-25 
sary powers from Sir Hugh Robsart ? ” 

The curate assured him of his assistance, and the herald 
nodded assent. 

“You must hold yourselves also in readiness to testify, in 
case you are called upon, the open-hearted hospitality which 30 
our good patron exercised towards this deceitful traitor, and 
the solicitude with which he laboured to seduce his un¬ 
happy daughter.” 

“At first,” said the clergyman, “she did not, as it seemed 
to me, much affect his company, but latterly I saw them 35 
often together.” 

“Seiant in the parlour,” said Michael Mumblazen, “and 
passant 0 in the garden.” 

“ I once came on them by chance,” said the priest, “in the 
South wood in a spring evening; Varney was muffled in a40 
russet cloak, so that I saw not his face; they separated 
hastily, as they heard me rustle amongst the leaves, and I 
observed she turned her head and looked long after him.” 


144 


KENILWORTH 


“With neck reguardant,°” said the herald; “and on the 
day of her flight, and that was on St. Austen’s Eve,° I saw 
Varney’s groom, attired in his liveries, hold his master’s 
horse and Mistress Amy’s palfrey, bridled and saddled 
5 proper, behind the wall of the churchyard.” 

“And now is she found mewed up in his secret place of 
retirement,” said Tressilian. “The villain is taken in the 
manner, and I well wish he may deny his crime, that I may 
thrust conviction down his false throat! But I must pre- 
io pare for my journey. Do you, gentlemen, dispose my 
patron to grant me such powers as are needful to act in his 
name.” 

So saying, Tressilian left the room. 

“ He is too hot,” said the curate; “ and I pray to God that 
15 He may grant him the patience to deal with Varney as is fit¬ 
ting.” 

“Patience and Varney,” said Mumblazen, “is worse 
heraldry than metal upon metal. He is more false than a 
siren, more rapacious than a griffin, more poisonous than a 
20 wyvern, and more cruel than a lion rampant.” 

“Yet I doubt much,” said the curate, “whether he can 
with propriety ask from Sir Hugh Robsart, being in his 
present condition, any deed deputing his paternal right in 

Mistress Amy to whomsoever-” 

25 “ Your reverence need not doubt that,” said Will Badger, 

who entered as he spoke, “ for I will lay my life he is another 
man when he wakes than he has been these thirty days past.” 

“ Ay, Will,” said the curate, “ hast thou then so much con¬ 
fidence in Doctor Diddleum’s draught?” 

30 “Not a whit,” said Will, “because master ne’er tasted a 
drop on’t, seeing it was emptied out by the housemaid. 
But here’s a gentleman, who came attending on Master 
Tressilian, has given Sir Hugh a draught that is worth 
twenty of yon un. I have spoken cunningly with him, and 
35 a better farrier, or one who hath a more just notion of horse 
and dog ailment, I have never seen; and such a one would 
never be unjust to a Christian man.” 

“ A farrier ! you saucy groom. And by whose authority, 
pray ? ” said the curate, rising in surprise and indignation; 
40 “ or who will be warrant for this new physician ? ” 

“For authority, an it like your reverence, he had mine; 
and for warrant, I trust I have not been five-and-twenty 
years in this house without having right to warrant the 





KENILWORTH 


145 


giving of a draught to beast or body — I who can gie a 
drench, and a ball, and bleed, or blister, if need, to my very 
self ” 

The counsellors of the house of Robsart thought it meet to 
carry this information instantly to Tressilian, who as speedily 5 
summoned before him Wayland Smith, and demanded of 
him (in private, however) by what authority he had ventured 
to administer any medicine to Sir Hugh Robsart. 

“ Why ” replied the artist, “ your worship cannot but re- 
membet that I told you I had made more progress into 10 
my master’s — I mean the learned Doctor Doboobie s— 
mystery than he was willing to own; and, indeed, hall of his 
auarrel and malice against me was, that, besides that 1 got 
something too deep into his secrets, several discerning 
persons, and particularly a buxom young widow of Abmg- 15 
don, preferred my prescriptions to his.” 

“ None of thy buffoonery, sir,” said Tressilian sternly. 

“If thou hast trifled with us — much more, if thou hast 
done aught that may prejudice Sir Hugh Robsart s.health 
thou shalt find thy grave at the bottom of a tm mine 20 

“ 1 know too little of the great arcanum to convert the ore 
to gold,” said Wayland, firmly. “ But truce to your appre¬ 
hensions, Master Tressilian. I understood the good knight s 

case from what Master William Badger told me, and I hope 

I am able enough to administer a poor dose of . ma 4 1( Jrf g0 qfr 25 
which, with the sleep that must needs follow, is all that bir 
Hugh Robsart requires to settle his- distraught brains.^ 

“I trust thou dealest fairly with me, Wayland? said 

Tr “Most fairly and honestly, as the event shall show,” 30 
replied the artist. “What would it avail me to harm the 
poor old man for whom you are interested? — you, towhom 
I owe it that Gaffer Pinniewinks is not even now ^nding my 
flesh and sinews with his accursed pincers, and probing every 
mole in my body with his sharpened awl — a murrain on the 35 
hands which forged it! — in order to find out the witch s 
mark ? I trust to yoke myself as a humble follower to your 
worship’s train, and I only wish to have my ? faith judged of 
by the result of the good knight s slumbers. 

Wayland Smith was right in his prognostication The 40 
sedative draught which his skill had prepared, and Mill 
Badger’s confidence had administered, was attended with the 
most beneficial effects. The patient’s sleep was long and 


146 


KENILWORTH 


healthful; and the poor old knight awoke, humbled indeed 
in thought, and weak in frame, yet a much better judge of 
whatever was subjected to his intellect than he had been for 
some time past. He resisted for a while the proposal made 
5 by his friends that Tressilian should undertake a journey to 
court, to attempt the recovery of his daughter, and the 
redress of her wrongs, in so far as they might yet be repaired. 

Let her go he said; “she is but a hawk that goes down 
the wind; I would not bestow even a whistle to reclaim 
10 iier ' 4. u Ut though he for some time maintained this argu¬ 
ment, he was at length convinced it was his duty to take the 
part to which natural affection inclined him, and consent 
that such efforts as could yet be made should be used bv 
iressilian in behalf of his daughter. He subscribed, there- 
15 fore, a warrant of attorney, such as the curate’s skill enabled 
“ dra y. u P; for in those simple days the clergy were 
often the advisers of their flock in law as well as in Gospel 
All matters were prepared for Tressilian’s second departure 
within twenty-four hours after he had returned to Lidcote 
20 Hall; but one material circumstance had been forgotten 
which was first called to the remembrance of Tressilian by 
Master Mumblazen. “You are going to court, Master 
tressilian, said he; you will please remember that your 
blazonry must be argent and or; no other tinctures will pass 
25 current. The remark was equally just and embarrassing, 
to prosecute a suit at court, ready money was as indis¬ 
pensable even in the golden days of Elizabeth as at any suc¬ 
ceeding period; and it was a commodity little at the com¬ 
mand of the inhabitants of Lidcote Hall. Tressilian was 
30 himself poor; the revenues of good Sir Hugh Robsart were 
consumed, and even anticipated, in his hospitable mode of 
living; and it was finally necessary that the herald, who 
started the doubt, should himself solve it. Master Michael 
Mumblazen did so by producing a bag of money, containing 
35 nearly three hundred pounds in gold and silver of variouf 
coinage, the savings of twenty years; which he now, without 
speaking a syllable upon the subject, dedicated to the service 
of the patron whose shelter and protection had given him 
the means of making this little hoard. Tressilian accepted 
40 it without affecting a moment’s hesitation, and a mutual 
grasp °f the hand was all that passed betwixt them, to 
express the pleasure which the one felt in dedicating his all 
to such a purpose, and that which the other received from 


KENILWORTH 


147 


finding so material an obstacle to the success of his journey 
so suddenly removed, and in a manner so unexpected. 

While Tressilian was making preparations for his depar¬ 
ture early the ensuing morning, Wayland Smith desired to 
sneak with him; and, expressing this hope that he had been 5 
pleased with the operation of his medicine in behalf of Sir 
Hugh Robsart, added his desire to accompany him to court. 
This was indeed what Tressilian himself had several times 
thought of; for the shrewdness, alertness of understanding, 
and variety of resource which this fellow had exhibited 10 
during the time they had travelled together, had made 
him sensible that his assistance might be of importance. 
But then Wayland was in danger from the grasp of law; and 
of this Tressilian reminded him, mentioning something, 
at the same time, of the pincers of Pinniewinks and the 15 
warrant of Master Justice Blindas. Wayland Smith 
laughed both to scorn. 

“ See you, sir!” said he, “I have changed my garb from 
that of a farrier to a serving-man; but were it still as it 
was, look at my mustachios; they now hang down, I will 20 
but turn them up, and dye them with a tincture that I know 
of, and the devil would scarce know me again.” 

He accompanied these words with the appropriate 
action; and in less than a minute, by setting up his mus¬ 
tachios and his hair, he seemed a different person from him 25 
that had but now entered the room. Still, however, Ires- 
silian hesitated to accept his services, and the artist became 
proportionably urgent. 

“1 owe you life and limb,” he said, “and I would fain pay 
a part of the debt, especially as I know from Will Badger on 30 
what dangerous service your worship is bound. I do not, 
indeed, pretend to be what is called a man of mettle one 
of those ruffling tear-cats, who maintain their master s 
quarrel with sword and buckler. Nay, I am even one of 
those who hold the end of a feast better than the beginning 35 
of a fray. But I know that I can serve your worship 
better in such quest as yours than any of these sword-and- 
dagger men, and that my head will be worth an hundred of 

their hands.” , , , - 

Tressilian still hesitated. He knew not much of this 40 
strange fellow, and was doubtful how far he could repose 
in him the confidence necessary to render him an useful 
attendant upon the present emergency. Ere he had come 


148 


KENILWORTH 


to a determination, the trampling of a horse was heard in the 
courtyard, and Master Mumblazen and Will Badger both 
entered hastily into Tressilian’s chamber, speaking almost 
at the same moment. 

5 “ Here is a serving-man on the bonniest' grey tit I ever 

see’d in my life,” said Will Badger, who got the start; — 
“having on his arm a, silver cognizance, being a fire-drake 
holding in his mouth a brick-bat, under a coronet of an 
earl’s degree,” said Master Mumblazen, “and bearing a 
xo letter sealed of the same.” 

Tressilian took the letter, which was addressed “ To the 

worshipful Master Edmund Tressilian, our loving kinsman_ 

i hes f “ rid ®4 ride > ride > — for thy life, for thy life, for 
thy life. He then opened it, and found the following 
15 contents: ® 


“ Master Tressilian, our good Friend and Cousin • 

“We are at present so ill at ease, and otherwise so un¬ 
happily circumstanced, that we are desirous to have around 
us those of our friends on whose loving-kindness we can 
20 most especially repose confidence; amongst whom we hold 
our good Master Tressilian one of the foremost and nearest 
both m good will and good ability. We therefore pray you' 
with your most convenient speed, to repair to our poor 
lodging at Say’s Court, near Deptford, where we will treat 
25 farther with you of matters which we deem it not fit to 
commit unto writing. And so we bid you heartily farewell 
being your loving kinsman to command, 

“ Ratcliffs, Earl of Sussex.” 


Send up the messenger instantly, Will Badger,” said Tres- 
3°sihan; and as the man entered the room he exclaimed: 

Ah, Stevens, is it you? how does my good lord?” 

“Ill, Master Tressilian,” was the messenger’s reply “and 
hfm. 1 ”^ ^erefore more need of good friends around 

35 . “But what is my lord’s malady?” said Tressilian, anx¬ 
iously. I heard nothing of his being ill.” 

“I know not, sir,” replied the man; “he is very ill at 
ease. The leeches are at a stand, and many of his household 
suspect foul practice — witchcraft, or worse ” 

40 /‘What are the symptoms?” said Wayland Smith, step¬ 
ping forward hastily. ’ p 




KENILWORTH 


149 


“Anan?” said the messenger, not comprehending his 

m ^What does he ail?” said Wayland; “where lies his dis- 

ea The man looked at Tressilian as if to know whether he 5 
should answer these inquiries from a stranger, and r ® ce i™g 
I sign in the affirmative, he hastily enumerated gradual loss 
of strength, nocturnal perspiration, and loss of appetite, 

fa “Joined?” C 'said Wayland, “to a gnawing pain in the to 

stomach, and a low fever?” . , 

“ Even so,” said the messenger, somewhat surprised. 

“ 1 know how the disease is caused, said the artist, and 
T know the cause. Your master has eaten of the manna of 
St. Nicholas. 0 I know the cure too: my master shall not 15 
sav I studied in his laboratory for nothing. 

“ How mean you? ” said Tressilian, frowning; we speak 
of one of the first nobles of England. Bethink you, this is no 

SU “ j GoVf°o r rWd ff °’°said'Wayland Smith. “ I say that I know » 
his disease^ and can cure Mm. Remember what I did for Sir 

H ^Ve R wm a ct’forth instantly,” said Tressilian. “Godcalls 

^'Accordingly, hastily mentioning this new motive for his 2 ; 
instant departure, though without ailudii^ to either^h ! 

travelled with the utmost speed towards London. 



CHAPTER XIII 


Tr*, . , . J Ay, I know you have arsenic. 

Vitriol, sal-tartre, argaile, alkaly 

Cinoper : I know all. This fellow, Captain, 

Will come in time to be a great distiller 
And give a say, I will not say directly, ' 

•But very near, at the philosopher's stone. 

The Alchemist. 

de?Datoh ILIA H P a h^H hiS fondants pressed their route with all 
despatch. He had asked the smith, indeed, when their de- 
parture was resolved on, whether he would not rather 
choose to avoid Berkshire, in which he had played a part so 
5 Hp nS h P n H U0US i B ,l W ? land burned a confident answer 
HalUn ^P^y ed . the , s h° rt 1 i n .terval they passed at Lidcote 
“W in trans f°rming himself in a wonderful manner His 
wild and overgrown thicket of beard was now restrained to 
two small mustachios on the upper lip, turned up in a mili- 
iotary fashion. A tailor from the village of Lidcote (well 
paid) had exerted his skill, under his customer’s directions 
so as completely to alter Wayland's outward man, and take 
off frorn his appearance almost twenty years of age For 
meriy, besmeared with soot and charcoal, overgrown wUh 
15 ’ be J xt double with the nature of his labour dis- 

t0 °’ by , j ls °f ( and fantastic dress, he seemed a man 
of fifty years old. But now, in a handsome suit of Tre?si" 
Y ltb a sword by his side, and a buckler on his 
shoulder, he looked like a gay ruffling servinv-mnn m >,ocn 

20 ^? e , lnlght be betwixt thirty and thirty-five, the very prime 
of human life. His loutish, savage-looking demeanou? 

■ 1 " p ' " d imp “ d “* 

whlcb^^fb 7 answered singing a stave from a comedy’ 
which was then new, and was supposed, among the more 

antw abl w UdgeS v, t0 augur some genius on the part of the 
3 oe a xactTy thus: “ ^ t0 i™ 6 the -uplet,"which ran 


150 


KENILWORTH 


151 


“Ban — ban, Ca — Caliban! 

Get a new master; be a new man. ” 

Although Tressilian did not recollect the verses, yet they re¬ 
minded him that Wayland had once been a stage-player, a 
circumstance which, of itself, accounted indifferently well for 5 
the readiness with which he could assume so total a change of 
personal appearance. The artist himself was so confident of 
his disguise being completely changed, or of his having com¬ 
pletely changed his disguise, which may be the more correct 
mode of speaking, that he regretted they were not to pass 10 
near his old place of retreat. 

“I could venture,” he said, “in my present dress, and with 
your worship’s backing, to face Master Justice Blindas, 
even on a day of quarter sessions; and I would like to know 
what is become of Hobgoblin, who is like to play the devil 15 
in the world, if he can once slip the string and leave his 
granny and his dominie. Ay, and the scathed vault!” 
he said — “I would willingly have seen what havoc the ex¬ 
plosion of so much gunpowder has made among Doctor 
Demetrius Doboobie’s retorts and phials. I warrant me, 20 
my fame haunts the Vale of the Whitehorse long after my 
body is rotten; and that many a lout ties up his horse, lays 
down his silver groat, and pipes like a sailor whistling in a 
calm, for Wayland Smith to come and shoe his tit for him. 
But the horse will catch the founders ere the smith answers 25 
the call.” 

In this particular, indeed, Wayland proved a true prophet; 
and so easily do fables rise, that an obscure tradition of 
his extraordinary practice in farriery prevails in the Vale of 
Whitehorse even unto this day; and neither the tradition 30 
of Alfred’s victory nor of the celebrated Pusey horn° are 
better preserved in Berkshire than the wild legend of Way- 
land Smith. 0 

The haste of the travellers admitted their making no stay 
upon their journey, save what the refreshment of the horses 35 
required; and as many of the places through which they 
passed were under the influence of the Earl of Leicester, or 
persons immediately dependent on him, they thought it 
prudent to disguise their names and the purpose of their 
journey. On such occasions the agency of Wayland Smith 40 
(by which name we shall continue to distinguish the artist, 
though his real name was Lancelot Wayland) was extremely 


152 


KENILWORTH 


serviceable. He seemed, indeed, to have a pleasure in 
displaying the alertness with which he could baffle investiga¬ 
tion, and amuse himself by putting the curiosity of tapsters 
and innkeepers on a false scent. During the course of their 
5 brief journey, three different and inconsistent reports were 
circulated by him on their account; namely, first, that 
Tressilian was the Lord Deputy of Ireland, come over in 
disguise to take the Queen’s pleasure concerning the great 
rebel Rory Oge MacCarthy MacMahon; secondly, that the 
o said Tressilian was an agent of Monsieur, 0 coming to urge 
his suit to the hand of Elizabeth; thirdly, that he was the 
Duke of Medina, come over, incognito, to adjust the quarrel 
betwixt Philip and that princess. 

Tressilian was angry, and expostulated with the artist on 
5 the various inconveniences, and, in particular, the unneces¬ 
sary degree of attention, to which they were subjected by 
the figments he thus circulated; but he was pacified (for 
who could be proof against such an argument?) by Way- 
land’s assuring him that a general importance was attached 
oto his own (Tressilian’s) striking presence, which rendered 
it necessary to give an extraordinary reason for the rapidity 
and secrecy of his journey. 

At length they approached the metropolis, where, owing 
to the more general recourse of strangers, their appearance 
excited neither observation nor inquiry, and finally they 
entered London itself. 

It was Tressilian’s purpose to go down directly to Dept¬ 
ford, where Lord Sussex resided, in order to be near the 
court, then held at Greenwich, the favourite residence of 
Elizabeth, and honoured as her birthplace. Still, a brief 
halt in London was necessary; and it was somewhat pro¬ 
longed by the earnest entreaties of Wayland Smith, who 
desired permission to take a walk through the city. 

“Take thy sword and buckler, and follow me, then,” said 
Tressilian; “I am about to walk myself, and we will go in 
company.” 

This he said, because he was not altogether so secure of the 
fidelity of his new retainer as to lose sight of him at this in¬ 
teresting moment, when rival factions at the court of Eliza¬ 
beth were running so high. Wayland Smith willingly ac¬ 
quiesced in the precaution, of which he probably conjectured 
the motive, but only stipulated that his master should enter 
the shops of such chemists or apothecaries as he should point 




KENILWORTH 


153 


out in walking through Fleet Street, and permit him to make 
some necessary purchases. Tressilian agreed, and, obeying 
the signal of his attendant, walked successively into more 
than four or five shops, where he observed that Wayland 
purchased in each only one single drug, in various quantities. 5 
The medicines which he first asked for were readily furnished, 
each in succession, but those which lie afterwards required 
were less easily supplied; and Tressilian observed that Way- 
land more than once, to the surprise of the shop-keeper, re¬ 
turned the gum or herb that was offered to him, and com- io 
pelled him to exchange it for the right sort, or else went on to 
seek it elsewhere. But one ingredient, in particular, seemed 
almost impossible to be found. Some chemists plainly 
admitted they had never seen it, others denied that such a 
drug existed, excepting in the imagination of crazy alchem- 15 
ists, and most of them attempted to satisfy their customer 
by producing some substitute, which, when rejected by Way- 
land as not being what he had asked for, they maintained 
possessed, in a superior degree, the self-same qualities. In 
general, they all displayed some curiosity concerning the 20 
purpose for which he wanted it. One old, meagre chemist, 
to whom the artist put the usual question, in terms which 
Tressilian neither understood nor could recollect, answered 
frankly, there was none of that drug in London, unless 
Yoglan the Jew chanced to have some of it upon hand. 

“ I thought as much,” said Wayland. And as soon as they 
left the shop, he said to Tressilian: “I crave your pardon, 
sir but no artist can work without his tools. I must needs 
goto this Yoglan’s; and I promise you that, if this detains 
you longer than your leisure seems to permit, you shall, 30 
nevertheless, be well repaid by the use I will make of this 
rare drug. Permit me,” he added, “to walk before you, 
for we are now to quit the broad street, and we will make 
double speed if I lead the way.” 

Tressilian acquiesced, and, following the smith down a 35 
lane which turned to the left hand towards the river, he 
found that his guide walked on with great speed and.ap¬ 
parently perfect knowledge of the town, through a labyrinth 
of bye-streets, courts, and blind alleys, until at length Way- 
land paused in the midst of a very narrow lane the termi- 40 
nation of which showed a peep of the Thames looking misty 
and muddy, which background was crossed saltier-ways as 
Mr. Mumblazen might have said, by the masts of two lighters 


25 


154 


KENILWORTH 


P* at T aiti ? s f0 - r the tide ' The shop under which he 

a nattrvea n0t ’ aS m modern da y s . a glazed window; but 
a paltry canvas screen surrounded such a stall as a cobbler 

p fi W u OCCUpie ®’ u aV1 u g the front open > much in the manner of 
5 fiS m ° n§er + L S b00th of the present da y- A little old smock- 
aced man, the very reverse of a Jew in complexion for he 
was very soft-haired as well as beardless, appeared and 

wa^t m h?J ^° ( 4 rtesies ask ed Wayland what he pleased to 
want He had no sooner named the drug than the Jew 
IO ® tar J ed and looked surprised. “ And vat mifht your vorship 
vant vith that drug, which is not named, mein God in fortv 
years as I have been chemist here?” , ^ 

swer T ” U w tl 0 i nS iS u ?° part of m y commission to an- 
swer said Wayland; “I only wish to know if vou h fl v P 
15 what I want, and having it, are willing to seUit? 

Ay, mem God, for having it, that I have, and for selling- 

httJ+S? 1 a chen J lst ' and sel1 e very drug.” So saying, he ex? 
hibited a powder, and then continued: “But it will cost 
much monies. Vat I ave cost its weight in gold_av e-old 

20 S e "r efi ? ed - 1 sa y six times. It coufes from Mo g unt 
® °ai, where we had our blessed Law given forth and the 
J 3 'osseins but once in one hundred year.” ’ 

0 ., 1 ° n . ot know how often it is gathered on Mount Sinai ” 

,S.SS' »rs,ssrs j 5 #«■ 

apinst your gaberdine that Sfra^yoToffermt instead" 

-y da y the 

“J?" ar « a ™?e man,” said the Jew; “and, besides lave 
30 order oil mike°of 

3 S fmnn e w^«= Jew with the utmost astonishment Hectored 



KENILWORTH 


155 


“Vill you not taste a cup vith the poor Jew, Zacharias 
Yoglan? Vill you Tokay 0 ave? — vill you Lachrymse 
taste? — vill you-” 

“You offend in your proffers/’ said Wayland; “minister 
I to me in what I require of you, and forbear further dis-5 
course.” 

The rebuked Israelite took his bunch of keys, and opening 
with circumspection a cabinet which seemed more strongly 
1 secured than the other cases of drugs and medicines amongst 
which it stood, he drew out a little secret drawer, having a 10 
glass lid, and containing a small portion of a black powder. 
This he offered to Wayland, his manner conveying the deep¬ 
est devotion towards him, though an avaricious and jealous 
expression, which seemed to grudge every grain of what his 
i customer was about to possess himself, disputed ground in *5 
his countenance with the obsequious deference which he 
i desired it should exhibit. 

“Have you scales?” said Wayland. 

The Jew pointed to those which lay ready for common use 
in the shop, but he did so with a puzzled expression of doubt 20 
and fear which did not escape the artist. 

“They must be other than these,” said Wayland, sternly; 

“ know you not that holy things lose their virtue if weighed 
in an unjust balance?” 

The Jew hung his head, took from a steel-plated casket a 25 
pair of scales beautifully mounted, and said, as he adjusted 
them for the artist’s use: “ With these I do mine own experi¬ 
ment; one hair of the high-priest’s beard would turn them.” 

“It suffices,” said the artist; and weighed out two 
drachms for himself of the black powder, which he very care- 30 
fully folded up and put into his pouch with the other drugs. 
He then demanded the price of the Jew, who answered, 
shaking his head and bowing: 

“ No price — no, nothing at all from such as you. But 
you will see the poor Jew again? — you will look into his 3S 
laboratory, where, God help him, he hath dried himself to 
the substance of the withered gourd of Jonah, the little holy 
prophet? You vill ave pity on him, and show him one step 
on the great road?” 

“Hush !” said Wayland, laying his finger mysteriously on 40 
his mouth, “ it may be we shall meet again: thou hast al¬ 
ready the schahmajm, as thine own rabbis call it the gen¬ 
eral creation; watch, therefore, and pray, for thou must 




156 


KENILWORTH 


attain the knowledge of Alchahest Elixir Samech ere I may 
commune farther with thee.” Then returning with a slight 
nod the reverential congees of the Jew, he walked gravely 
up the lane, followed by his master, whose first observation 
5 on the scene he had just witnessed was, that Wayland ought 
to have paid the man for his drug, whatever it was. 

“I pay him !” said the artist. “May the foul fiend pay 
me if I do ! Had it not been that I thought it might dis¬ 
please your worship, I would have had an ounce or two of 
io gold out of him, in exchange of the same just weight of brick- 
dust.” 

“ I advise you to practise no such knavery w r hile waiting 
upon me,” said Tressilian. 

“ Did I not say,” answered the artist, “ that for that reason 
iS alone I forbore him for the present? Knavery, call you it? 
Why, yonder wretched skeleton hath wealth sufficient to 
pave the whole lane he lives in with dollars, and scarce miss 
them out of his own iron chest; yet he goes mad after the 
philosopher’s stone; and, besides, he would have cheated a 
20 poor serving-man, as he thought me at first, with trash that 
was not worth a penny. ‘Match for match, 0 ’ quoth the 
devil to the collier: if his false medicine was worth my good 
crowns, my true brick-dust is as well worth his good gold.” 

“ It may be so for aught I know,” said Tressilian, “ in deal- 
25 i n § amongst Jews and apothecaries; but understand that to 
have such tricks of legerdemain practised by one attending 
on me diminishes my honour, and that I will not permit 
them. I trust thou hast made up thy purchases?” 

“I have, sir,” replied Wayland; “and with these drugs 
30 will I, this very day, compound the true orvietan, 0 that 
noble medicine which is so seldom found genuine and effec¬ 
tive within these realms of Europe, for want of that most 
rare and precious drug which I got but now from Yoglan.” 

“ But why not have made all your purchases at one shop ? ” 
35 said his master; “we have lost nearly an hour in running 
from one pounder of simples to another.” 

“Content you, sir,” said Wayland. “ No man shall learn 
my secret; and it would not be mine long were I to buy all 
my materials from one chemist.” 

40 They now returned to their inn, the famous Bell-Savage, 0 
and while the Lord Sussex’s servant prepared the horses for 
their journey, Wayland, obtaining from the cook the service 
of a mortar, shut himself up in a private chamber, where he 


KENILWORTH 


157 


mixed, pounded, and 

address E, 1 ;Si?y d .”oS E £!“JVM* >" *“ “• 

w ! 

were ready, and a short h % anc ient house, called 

present habitation of Lord ’ h d long pertained to a 

Say’s Court, near of a century been 

family of that name but ™d ^ p^^ fam il y of Evelyn. 10 
possessed by the anc ancient house took a deep 

The present representati^ and had willingly accom- 

interest in the Earl nume ’ ro us retinue in his hospitable 
modated both him and his prwar ds the residence of the 

mansion. Say’s Cour O ^ whoge s ^ va i s still the manual of 15 
celebrated Mr. Ev ’ hose pfe, manners, and principles, 

* ^ t0 be the manual 
of English gentlemen. 



CHAPTER XIV 

th6ir brul ~‘- 

Old Play. 

hi^frose^thf^sus^icin^of^he^Um^thaf^re^ T^ ^ S ° 

attendants were stooped and mm? TressiIlan and his 
tinels, both on foot^and horseback T tl, re P eate dly by sen- 
5 abode of the sick earl. In truth thn hi 7 ^ ppr ° ached the 
held m Queen Elizabeth's favour Ind hfsVnnw Whl ?, h Sussex 
rivalry of the Earl of T piW 0 + q ' and , , own and avowed 
tance^o be aUaSed'm wf^t nf' 08 * ?T° r " 
treat of all men doubted whether he’or the Ferinf P T er ‘° d f 6 

the interest of the state, or per Wg he^^f^ 0 ? 1111 ^ 6 ’ as 

15 for to that foible even she was nS • female caprice, 
termine. To finesse ° to hold supe ^ 10r ^ might finally de- 
terest to another, to bridh/him whoTh'J? 8 ’ u? £- Ppose one in- 
in her esteem by the felvshemV !“^tlumself highest 
equally trusted, if not equallv bHmSd' entertam of another 
20 used throughout her reign and whiVv.’ We £n w ^i c ^ slle 
frequently living her ;. th ° U S h 

prevent most of its evi, effects 

25 po^eLe^very'difforeiU pretensions°to^hanfit° ^ be F ^ a Y our 
vfcL^^ 

woman. Sussex was“aTcordinl to the T m0S * dear to th « 
martialist: had done good servfce in'Irefenl InlcoTaAd 

158 



KENILWORTH 


159 


and especially in the great northern rebellion, in 1569 , which 
was quelled, in a great measure, by his military talents. He 
was, therefore, naturally surrounded and looked up to by 
those who wished to make arms their road to distinction. 
The Earl of Sussex, moreover, was of more ancient and hon- 5 
ourable descent than his rival, uniting in his person the 
representation of the Fitz-Walters, as well as of the Rat- 
cliffes, while the scutcheon of Leicester was stained by the 
degradation of his grandfather, the oppressive minister of 
Henry VII., and scarce improved by that of his father, the 10 
unhappy Dudley Duke of Northumberland, executed on 
Tower Hill, August 22, 1553 . But in person, features, and 
address, weapons so formidable in the court of a female sov¬ 
ereign, Leicester had advantages more than sufficient to 
counterbalance the military services, high blood, and frank 15 
bearing of the Earl of Sussex; and he bore in the eye of the 
court and kingdom the higher share in Elizabeth’s favour, 
though (for such was her uniform policy) by no means so 
decidedly expressed as to warrant him against the final pre¬ 
ponderance of his rival’s pretensions. The illness of Sussex 20 
therefore happened so opportunely for Leicester as to give 
rise to strange surmises among the public; while the fol¬ 
lowers of the one earl were filled with the deepest appre¬ 
hensions, and those of the other with the highest hopes of its 
probable issue. Meanwhile — for in that old time men never 25 
forgot the probability that the matter might be determined 
by length of sword — the retainers of each noble flocked 
around their patron, appeared well armed in the vicinity of 
the court itself, and disturbed the ear of the sovereign by 
their frequent and alarming debates, held even within the 30 
precincts of her palace. This preliminary statement is 
necessary to render what follows intelligible to the reader. 

On Tressilian’s arrival at Say’s Court, he found the place 
filled with the retainers of the Earl of Sussex, and of the gen¬ 
tlemen who came to attend their patron in his illness. Arms 35 
were in every hand, and a deep gloom on every countenance, 
as if they had apprehended an immediate and violent assault 
from the opposite faction. In the hall, however, to which 
Tressilian was ushered by one of the earl’s attendants, while 
another went to inform Sussex of his arrival, he found only 40 
two gentlemen in waiting. There was a remarkable con¬ 
trast in their dress, appearance, and manners. The attire 
of the elder gentleman, a person, as it seemed, of quality and 





160 


KENILWORTH 


in the prime of life, was very plain and soldierlike, his stature 
low, his limbs stout, his bearing ungraceful, and his features 
of that kind which express sound common sense, without a 
gram of vivacity or imagination. The younger, who seemed 
5 about twenty or upwards, was clad in the gayest habit used 
by persons of quality at the period, wearing a crimson velvet 
cloak richly ornamented with lace and embroidery, with a 
bonnet of the same, encircled with a gold chain turned three 
times round it and secured by a medal. His hair was ad- 
io justed very nearly like that of some fine gentlemen of our own 
time — that is, it was combed upwards, and made to stand as 
it were on end; and in his ears he wore a pair of silver ear-rings, 
having each a pearl of considerable size. The countenance 
of this youth, besides being regularly handsome and ac- 
15 companied by a fine person, was animated and striking in a 
degree that seemed to speak at once the firmness of a 
decided and the fire of an enterprising character, the power 
of reflection and the promptitude of determination. 

Both these gentlemen reclined nearly in the same posture 
20 on benches near each other; but each seeming engaged in his 
own meditations, looked straight upon the wall which was 
opposite to them, without speaking to his companion. The 
looks of the elder were of that sort which convinced the 
beholder that, in looking on the wall, he saw no more than 
25 the side of an old hall hung around with cloaks, antlers 
bucklers, old pieces of armour, partizans, and the similar 
articles which were usually the furniture of such a place 
the look of the younger gallant had in it something imagi¬ 
native ; he was sunk m reverie, and it seemed as if the emptv 
30 space of air betwixt him and the wall were the stage of a 
theatre on which his fancy was mustering his own dramatis 
Versons, and treating him with sights far different from 
those which his awakened and earthly vision could have 
ottered. 

35 • At ^ 1 ' entra ? ce of Tressilian both started from their mus¬ 
ing and bade him welcome; the younger, in particular, with 
great appearance of animation and cordiality. 

“Thou art welcome, Tressilian/’ said the youth- “thv 
philosophy stole thee from us when this household had ob- 
40 ]ects of ambition, to offer: it is an honest philosophy, since 
it returns thee to us when there are only dangers to be 
snared. 

“ Is m y lord > th en, so greatly indisposed? ” said Tressilian. 




KENILWORTH 


161 


“ We fear the very worst,” answered the elder gentleman, 
“and by the worst practice.” 

“ Fy,” replied Tressilian, “my Lord of Leicester is honour¬ 
able.” 

“What doth he with such attendants, then, as he hath 5 
about him?” said the younger gallant. “The man who 
raises the devil may be honest, but he is answerable for the 
mischief which the fiend does for all that.” 

“And'is this all of you, my mates,” inquired Tressilian, 
“that are about my lord in his utmost straits?” 10 

“No —no,” replied the elder gentleman, “there are 
Tracy, Markham, and several more; but we keep watch here 
by two at once, and some are weary and are sleeping in the 
gallery above.” 

“And some,” said the young man, “are gone down to the 15 
dock yonder at Deptford, to look out such a hulk as they may 
\ purchase by clubbing their broken fortunes; and so soon as 
' all is over we will lay our noble lord in a noble green grave, 
have a blow at those who have hurried him thither, if oppor¬ 
tunity suits, and then sail for the Indies with heavy hearts 20 
and light purses.” 

“It may be,” said Tressilian, “that I will embrace the 
same purpose, so soon as I have settled some business at 
! court.” 

“ Thou business at court! ” they both exclaimed at once; 25 
“ and thou make the Indian voyage ! ” 

“Why, Tressilian,” said the younger man, “art thou not 
wedded, and beyond these flaws of fortune that drive folks 
out to sea when their bark bears fairest for the haven? 
What has become of the lovely Indamira 0 that was to 3® 
match my Amoret for truth and beauty?” 

“Speak not of her!” said Tressilian, averting his face. 

“Ay, stands it so with you?” said the youth, taking his 
hand very affectionately; “then, fear not I will again touch 
the green wound. But it is strange as well as sad news. 35 
Are none of our fair and merry fellowship to escape ship¬ 
wreck of fortune and happiness in this sudden tempest? I 
had hoped thou wert in harbour, at least, my dear Edmund. 
But truly says another dear friend of thy name: 

What man that sees the ever whirling wheel 40 

Of change, the which all mortal things doth sway, 

But that thereby doth find and plainly feel, 

M 




162 


KENILWORTH 


How mutability in them doth play 
Her cruel sports to many men’s decay. 0 ” 

The elder gentleman had risen from his beneh, and was 
pacing the hall with some impatience, while the youth, with 
5 much earnestness and feeling, recited these lines. When he 
had done, the other wrapped himself in his cloak, and again 
stretched himself down, saying: “I marvel, Tressilian, you 
will feed the lad in this silly humour. If there were aught to 
draw a judgment upon a virtuous and honourable household 
io like my lord’s, renounce me if I think not it were this piping, 
whining, childish trick of poetry that came among us with 
Master Walter Wittypate 0 here and his comrades, twisting 
into all manner of uncouth and incomprehensible forms of 
speech the honest plain English phrase which God gave us to 
15 express our meaning withal.” 

“ Blount believes,” said his comrade, laughing, “the devil 
woo’d Eve in rhyme, and that the mystic meaning of the 
Tree of Knowledge refers solely to the art of clashing rhymes 
and meting out hexameters.” 

20 At this moment the earl’s chamberlain entered, and 
informed Tressilian that his lord required to speak with him. 

He found Lord Sussex dressed, but unbraced and lying on 
his couch, and was shocked at the alteration disease had 
made in his person. The earl received him with the most 
25 friendly cordiality, and inquired into the state of his court¬ 
ship. Tressilian evaded his inquiries for a moment, and 
turning his discourse on the earl’s own health, he discovered,. 
to his surprise, that the symptoms of his disorder corre¬ 
sponded minutely with those which Wayland had predicated 
30 concerning it. He hesitated not, therefore, to communicate 
to Sussex the whole history of his attendant, and the pre¬ 
tensions he set up to cure the disorder under which he 
laboured. The earl listened with incredulous attention 
until the name of Demetrius was mentioned, and then sud- 
35 denly called to his secretary to bring him a certain casket 
which contained papers of importance. “Take out from 
thence,” he said, “the declaration of the rascal cook whom 
we had under examination, and look heedfully if the name 
of Demetrius be not there.” 

40 The secretary turned to the passage at once, and read: 
“ And said declarant, being examined, saith, That he remem¬ 
bers having made the sauce to the said sturgeon-fish, after 


KENILWORTH 


163 


eating of which the said noble lord was taken ill; and he put 

the usual ingredients and condiments therein, namely- 

“ Pass over his trash/’ said the earl, “and see whether he 
had not been supplied with his materials by a herbalist 

called Demetrius.” , , 5 

“It is even so,” answered the secretary. And he adds, 
he has not since seen the said Demetrius.” 

« This accords with thy fellow’s story, Tressilian, said the 
earl;“ call him hither.” 

On being summoned to the earl’s presence, Wayland fcmith io 
told his former tale with firmness and consistency. 

“It may be,” said the earl, “thou art sent by those who 
have begun this work, to end it for them; but bethink, if I 
miscarry under thy medicine, it may go hard with thee. 

“That were severe measures,” said Wayland, since the 15 
issue of medicine, and the end of life, are in God’s disposal. 
But I will stand the risk. I have not lived so long under 

ground to be afraid of a grave.” 

“ Nay, if thou be’st so confident, said the Earl of Sussex, 

“I will take the risk too, for the learned can do nothing for 20 
me. Tell me how this medicine is to be taken. ’ 

“ That will I do presently,” said Wayland; but allow me 
to condition that, since I incur all the risk of this treatment, 
no other physician shall be permitted to interfere with it. 
“That is but fair,” replied the earl; ‘ and now prepare 25 

While 1 Wayland obeyed the earl’s commands, his servants, 
by the artist’s direction, undressed their master and placed 

hll “I ir warn you,” he said, “that the first operation of this 30- 
medicine will be to produce a heavy sleep, during which 
time the chamber must be kept undisturbed, as the con¬ 
sequences may otherwise be fatal. I myself will watch by 
the earl, with any of the gentlemen of his chamber „ 

“ Let all leave the room save Stanley and this good fellow, 35 

Sai “ And saving me also,” said Tressilian. “ I too am deeply 
interested in the effects of this potion. ... r 

“Be it so, good friend,” said the earl; and now for our 
experiment; but first call my secretary and chamberlain. 40 
“Bear witness,” he continued, when these officers ar 
r j ve d — “bear witness for me, gentlemen, that our ho £ ou J‘- 
able friend Tressilian is in no way responsible for the effects 






164 


KENIL WORTH 


which this medicine may produce upon me, the taking it 
being my own free action and choice, in regard I believe it to 
be a remedy which God has furnished me by unexpected 
means to recover me of my present malady. Commend 

5 ^r| t H°- n i y n + ° ble and P rmcel Y mistress; and say that I live 
and die her true servant, and wish to all about her throne the 
same singleness of heart and will to serve her, with more 

R b ateliffe° ,d ° & ° tha “ hath be6n assi S ned to P°»r Thomas 

IO L, Cyr n ^ ded hands, and seemed for a second or two 
“fj 11 ™ en - tal devot “ n > then took the potion in his 
!^ nd ’ a^a’ • P au ® m S> regarded Wayland with a look that 
seemed designed to penetrate his very soul, but which 

IS Sf the d a n rtist! Xlety ^ hesitation in the countenance or manner 

"Here is nothing to be feared,” said Sussex to Tressilian 
a d swallowed the medicine without farther hesitation. ' 
I am now to pray your lordship,” said Wayland “to dis¬ 
pose yourself to rest as commodiously as you can' and of 

20 you, gentlemen to remain as still and mutexs if you waited 
at your mother's death-bed.” y tea 

The chamberlain and secretary then withdrew sivina- 
orders that all doors should be bolted, and all noise ?n thf 
house strictly prohibited. Several gentlemen were volun 

25 nfTh Wa K hers la the hall > but none remained in the chamber 
of the sick earl, save his groom of the chamber the artist 
and Tressilian. Wayland Smith’s predictions were speedUv 

that m th lshed n and \ sl u e 5 fel1 upon theearl SO deep and sound 
that they who watched his bedside began to fear that 
3° n h,s weakened state, he might pass awa| without awaken! 
ng from his lethargy. Wayland Smith himself apneared 
anxious, and felt the temples of the earl slightly from time 

3H3 



CHAPTER XV 


You loggerheaded and unpolish’d grooms, 

What, no attendance, no regard, no duty ? 

Where is the foolish knave I sent before ? 

Taming of the Shrew. 

There is no period at which men look worse in the eyes of 
each other, or feel more uncomfortable, than when the first 
dawn of daylight finds them watchers. Even a beauty of the 
first order, after the vigils of a ball are interrupted by the 
dawn, would do wisely to withdraw herself from the gaze 5 
of her fondest and most partial admirers. Such was the 
pale, inauspicious, and ungrateful light which began to beam 
upon those who kept watch all night in the hall at Say s 
Court, and which mingled its cold, pale, blue diffusion with 
the red, yellow, and smoky beams of expiring lamps and 10 
torches. The young gallant whom we noticed in our last 
chapter had left the room for a few minutes, to learn the 
cause of a knocking at the outward gate, and on his return 
was so struck with the forlorn and ghastly aspects of his 
companions of the watch, that he exclaimed. Pity 01 15 
my heart, my masters, how like owls you look ! Methmks, 
when the sun rises, I shall see you flutter off with your 
eyes dazzled, to stick yourselves into the next ivy-tod or 

ruined steeple.” , , iU 1 j 

“ Hold thy peace, thou gibing fool,” said Blount — hold 20 
thy peace. Is this a time for jeering, when the manhood of 
England is perchance dying within a wall’s breadth of thee? 
“There thou liest,” replied the gallant. 

“How, lie!” exclaimed Blount, starting up— lie! and 

to me ? ” ^5 

“ Why, so thou didst, thou peevish fool,” answered the 
youth; “thou didst lie on that bench even now, didst thou 
not? But art thou not a hasty coxcomb, to pick up a wry 
word so wrathfully ? Nevertheless, loving and honouring 
my lord as truly as thou, or any one, I do say that, should 30 
Heaven take him from us, all England’s manhood dies not 
with him.” 


165 



166 


KENILWORTH 


Ay, replied Blount, “a good portion will survive with 
thee, doubtless.” 

“And a good portion with thyself, Blount, and with stout 
Markham here, and Tracy, and all of us. But I am he will 
5 best employ the talent Heaven has given to us all ” 

“ As how, I prithee ? ” said Blount: “ tell us your mystery 
of multiplying.” J J 

“Why, sirs,” answered the youth, “ye are like goodly 
land, which bears no crop because it is not quickened by 
io manure; but I have that rising spirit in me which will make 
my poor faculties labour to keep pace with it. My ambition 
will keep my brain at work, I warrant thee.” 

“I P ra y to God ^ does not drive thee mad,” said Blount- 
tor my part, if we lose our noble lord, I bid adieu to the 
5 court and to the camp both. I have five hundred foul 
acres m Norfolk, and thither will I, and change the court 
pantoufle for the country hobnail.” 

1 t^aI ^ smutation! ’ , exclaimed his antagonist: 
thou hast already got the true rustic slouch: thy shoulders 
20 stoop as if thine hands were at the stilts of the plough and 
thou hast a kind of earthly smell about thee, instead of 
bemg perfumed with essence, as a gallant and courtier 
should. On my soul, thou hast stolen out to roll thyself 
„ a ^ay-mow! Thy only excuse will be to swear by thy 
25 hilts that the farmer had a fair daughter.” J 

ic ^ Walter, said another of the company 

cease thy raillery, which suits neither time nor place, and 
tell us who was at the gate just now.” 

“Doctor Masters, physician to her Grace in ordinary, sent 
30 by her especial orders to inquire after the earl's health” 
answered Walter. ' 

“Ha! what J” exclaimed Tracy, “that was no slight 
mark of favour; if the earl can but come through, he will 
match with Leicester yet. Is Masters with my lord at 
35 present ? J 

“Nay/' replied Walter, “he is half-way back to Green¬ 
wich by this time, and in high dudgeon.” 

“Thou didst not refuse him admittance?'' exclaimed 
I racy. 

40 “< ? h ° u w T, t . not ’ su ^ el y> so mad ? ” ejaculated Blount. 

I refused him admittance as flatly, Blount, as you would 
refuse a penny to a blind beggar; as obstinately, Tracy, as 
thou didst ever deny access to a dun.” 



KENILWORTH 


167 


“Why,, in the fiend’s name, didst thou trust him to go to 
the gate ? ” said Blount to Tracy. 

“It suited his years better than mine,” answered Tracy; 
“but he has undone us all now thoroughly. My lord may 
live or die, he will never have a look of favour from hers 
Majesty again.” 

“ Nor the means of making fortunes for his followers,” said 
the young gallant, smiling contemptuously; “there lies the 
sore point that will brook no handling. My good sirs, I 
sounded my lamentations over my lord somewhat less io 
loudly than some of you; but when the point comes of 
doing him service, I will yield to none of you. Had this 
learned leech entered, thinkst thou not there had been such 
a coil betwixt him and Tressilian’s mediciner that not the 
sleeper only, but the very dead, might have awakened? I 15 
know what larum belongs to the discord of doctors.” 

“And who is to take the blame of opposing the Queen’s 
orders?” said Tracy; “for, undeniably, Doctor Masters 
came with her Grace’s positive commands to cure the earl.” 

“ I, who have done the wrong, will bear the blame,” said 20 
Walter. 

“Thus, then, off fly the dreams of court favour thou hast 
nourished,” said Blount; “and despite all thy boasted art 
and ambition, Devonshire will see thee shine a true younger 
brother, fit to sit low at the board, carve turn about with the 25 
chaplain, look that the hounds be fed, and see the squire’s 
girths drawn when he goes a-hunting.” 

“Not so,” said the young man, colouring, “not while Ire¬ 
land and the Netherlands have wars, and not while the sea 
hath pathless waves. The rich West hath lands undreamed 30 
of, and Britain contains bold hearts to venture on the quest 
of them. Adieu for a space, my masters. I go to walk in 
the court and look to the sentinels.” 

“The lad hath quicksilver in his veins, that is certain,” 
said Blount, looking at Markham. 35 

“ He hath that both in brain and blood,” said Markham, 
“which may either make or mar him. But, in closing the 
door against Masters, he hath done a daring and loving piece 
of service; for Tressilian’s fellow hath ever averred that to 
wake the earl were death, and Masters would wake the Seven 40 
Sleepers themselves, if he thought they slept not by the 
regular ordinance of medicine.” 

Morning was well advanced, when Tressilian, fatigued and 







168 


KENILWORTH 


over-watched, came down to the hall with the joyful intelli¬ 
gence that the earl had awakened of himself, that he found 
his internal complaints much mitigated, and spoke with a 
cheerfulness, and looked round with a vivacity, which of 
5 themselves showed a material and favourable change had 
taken place. Tressilian at the same time commanded the 
attendance of one or two of his followers, to report what had 
passed during the night, and to relieve the watchers in the 
earl’s chamber. 

io When the message of the Queen was communicated to the 
Earl of Sussex, he at first smiled at the repulse which the 
physician had received from his zealous young follower, but 
instantly recollecting himself, he commanded Blount, his 
master of the horse, instantly to take boat and go down the 
15 river to the Palace of Greenwich, taking young Walter and 
Tracy with him, and make a suitable compliment, expressing 
his grateful thanks to his sovereign, and mentioning the 
cause why he had not been enabled to profit by the assistance 
of the wise and learned Doctor Masters. 

20 “ A plague on it,” said Blount, as he descended the stairs, 

“had he sent me with a cartel to Leicester, I think I should 
have done his errand indifferently well. But to go to our 
gracious sovereign, before whom all words must be lackered 
over either with gilding or with sugar, is such a confectionary 
25 matter as clean baffles my poor old English brain. Gome 
with me, Tracy; and come you too, Master Walter Witty- 
pate, that art the cause of our having all this ado. Let us 
see if thy neat brain, that frames so many flashy fireworks, 
can help out a plain fellow at need with some of thy shrewd 
30 devices.” 

“ Never fear — never fear,” exclaimed the youth, “it is I 
will help you through; let me but fetch my cloak.” 

“ Why, thou hast it on thy shoulders,” said Blount: “the 
lad is mazed.” 

35 “No, no, this is Tracy’s old mantle,” answered Walter; 
“I go not with thee to court unless as a gentleman should.” 

“Why,” said Blount, “thy braveries are like to dazzle the 
eyes of none but some poor groom or porter. ” 

“ I know that,” said the youth; “but I am resolved I will 
40 have my own cloak — ay, and brush my doublet to boot — 
ere I stir forth with you.” 

“ Well — well,” said Blount, “here is a coil about a doub¬ 
let and a cloak; get thyself ready, a’ God’s name !” 



KENILWORTH 


They were soon launched on the princely bosom of the 
broad Thames, upon which the sun now shone forth in all its 
splendour. 

“ There are two things scarce matched in the universe/’ 
said Walter to Blount — “the sun in heaven, and the 5 
Thames on earth.” % 

“The one will light us to Greenwich well enough,” said 
Blount, “ and the other would take us there a little faster if 
it were ebb tide.” 

“ And this is all thou think’ st — all thou carest — all thou 10 
deem’st the use of the king of elements and the king of 
rivers, to guide three such poor caitiffs as thyself, and me, 
and Tracy upon an idle journey of courtly ceremony !” 

“It is no errand of my seeking, faith,” replied Blount, 
“and I could excuse both the sun and the Thames the 15 
trouble of carrying me where I have no great mind to go, and 
wdiere I expect but dog’s wages for my trouble; and by my 
honour,” he added, looking out from the head of the boat, 
“it seems to me as if our message were a sort of labour in 
vain; for see, the Queen’s barge lies at the stairs, as if her 20 
Majesty were about to take water.” 

It was even so. The royal barge, manned with the Queen’s 
watermen, richly attired in the regal liveries, and having the 
banner of England displayed, did indeed lie at the great 
stairs which ascended from the river, and along with it two 25 
or three other boats for transporting such part of her 
retinue as were not in immediate attendance on the royal 
person. The yeomen of the guard, the tallest and most 
handsome men whom England could produce, guarded 
with their halberds the passage from the palace gate to the 30 
river-side, and all seemed in readiness for the Queen’s 
coming forth, although the day was yet so early. 

“By my faith, this bodes us no good,” said Blount: “it 
must be some perilous cause puts her Grace in motion thus 
untimeously. By my counsel, we were best put back again, 35 
and tell the earl what we have seen.” 

“Tell the earl what we have seen!” said Walter; “why, 
what have we seen but a boat, and men with scarlet jerkins, 
and halberds in their hands ? Let us do his errand, and tell 
him what the Queen says in reply.” 40 

So saying, he caused the boat to be pulled towards a land¬ 
ing-place at some distance from the principal one, which it 
would not, at that moment, have been thought respectful to 





170 


KENILWORTH 


approach, and jumped on shore, followed, though with re¬ 
luctance, by his cautious and timid companions. As they 
approached the gate of the palace, one of the sergeant porters 
told them they could not at present enter, as her Majesty was 
5 in the act of coming forth. The gentlemen used the name of 
the Earl of Sussex; but it proved no charm to subdue the 
officer, who alleged in reply, that it was as much as his post 
was worth to disobey in the least tittle the commands which 
he had received. 

10 “Nay, I told you as much before” said Blount; “do, I 
pray you, my dear Walter, let us take boat and return.” 

“ Not till I see the Queen come forth,” returned the youth, 
composedly. 

“Thou art mad — stark mad, by the mass!” answered 
15 Blount. 

“And thou,” said Walter, “art turned coward of the sud¬ 
den. I have seen thee face half a score of shag-headed Irish 
kernes 0 to thy own share of them, and now thou wouldst 
blink and go back to shun the frown of a fair lady! ” 

20 At this moment the gates opened, and ushers began to 
issue forth in array, preceded and flanked by the band of 
gentlemen pensioners. After this, amid a crowd of lords 
and ladies, yet so disposed around her that she could see and 
be seen on all sides, came Elizabeth herself, then in the prime 
25 of womanhood, and in the full glow of what in a sovereign 
was called beauty, and who would in the lowest rank of life 
have been truly judged a noble figure, joined to a striking 
and commanding physiognomy. She leant on the arm of 
Lord Hunsdon, 0 whose relation to her by her mother’s side 
30 often procured him such distinguished marks of Elizabeth’s 
intimacy. 

The young cavalier we have so often mentioned had prob¬ 
ably never yet approached so near the person of his sov¬ 
ereign, and lie pressed forward as far as the line of warders 
35 permitted, in order to avail himself of the present oppor¬ 
tunity. His companion, on the contrary, cursing his im¬ 
prudence, kept pulling him backwards, till Walter shook 
him off impatiently, and letting his rich cloak drop carelessly 
from one shoulder — a natural action, which served, how- 
40 ever, to display to the best advantage his well-proportioned 
person — unbonneting at the same time, he fixed his eager 
gaze on the Queen’s approach, with a mixture of respectful 
curiosity and modest yet ardent admiration, which suited so 



KENILWORTH 


171 


well with his fine features, that the warders, struck with his 
rich attire and noble countenance, suffered him to approach 
the ground over which the Queen was to pass somewhat closer 
than was permitted to ordinary spectators. Thus the adven¬ 
turous youth stood full in Elizabeth’s eye—an eye never in- 5 
different to the admiration which she deservedly excited 
among her subjects, or to the fair proportions of external 
form which chanced to distinguish any of her courtiers. 
Accordingly, she fixed her keen glance on the youth, as she 
approached the place where he stood, with a look in which 10 
surprise at his boldness seemed to be unmingled with re¬ 
sentment, while a trifling accident happened which at¬ 
tracted her attention towards him yet more strongly. The 
night had been rainy, and, just where the young gentleman 
stood, a small quantity of mud interrupted the Queen’ s pas- 15 
sage. As she hesitated to pass on,° the gallant, throwing his 
cloak from his shoulders, laid it on the miry spot, so as to 
ensure her stepping over it dry-shod.. Elizabeth looked at 
the young man, who accompanied this act of devoted cour¬ 
tesy with a profound reverence, and a blush that overspread 20 
his whole countenance. The Queen was confused, and 
blushed in her turn, nodded her head, hastily passed on, and 
embarked in her barge without saying a word. 

“Come along, sir coxcomb,” said Blount; “your gay 
cloak will need the brush to-day, I wot. Nay, if you had 25 
meant to make a foot-cloth of your mantle, better have kept 
Tracy’s old drab-de-bure,° which despises all colours.” 

“This cloak,” said the youth, taking it up and folding it, 
“shall never be brushed while in my possession.” 

“ And that will not be long, if you learn not a little more 3 o 
economy: we shall have you in cuerpo 0 soon, as the Span¬ 
iard says.” ,, , , . 

Their discourse was here interrupted by one of the band ot 

pensioners. . , . 

“I was sent,” said he, after looking at them attentively, 35 
“to a gentleman who hath no cloak, or a muddy one. You, 
sir, I think,” addressing the young cavalier, “ are the man; 
you will please to follow me.” 

“ He is in attendance on me,” said Blount — on me, the 
noble Earl of Sussex’s master of horse.” 40 

“ I have nothing to say to that,” answered the messenger; 
“my orders are directly from her Majesty, and concern this 
gentleman only.” 





172 


KENILWORTH 


So saying, he walked away, followed by Walter, leaving 
the others behind, Blount’s eyes almost starting from his 
head with the excess of his astonishment. At length he gave 
vent to it in an exclamation, “ Who the good j ere would have 
5 thought this !” And shaking his head with a mysterious air, 
he walked to his own boat, embarked, and returned to 
Deptford. 

The young cavalier was, in the mean while, guided to the 
water-side by the pensioner, who showed him considerable 
io respect — a circumstance which, to persons in his situation, 
may be considered as an augury of no small consequence. 
He ushered him into one of the wherries which lay ready to 
attend the Queen’s barge, which was already proceeding up 
the river, with the advantage of that flood-tide of which, in 
15 the course of their descent, Blount had complained to his 
associates. 

The two rowers used their oars with such expedition, at 
the signal of the gentleman pensioner, that they very soon 
brought their little skiff under the stern of the Queen’s boat, 
20 where she sate beneath an awning, attended by two or three 
ladies and the nobles of her household. She looked more 
than once at the wherry in which the young adventurer was 
seated, spoke to those around her, and seemed to laugh. At 
length one of the attendants, by the Queen’s order appar- 
25 ently, made a sign for the wherry to come alongside, and the 
young man was desired to step from his own skiff into the 
Queen’s barge, which he performed with graceful agility at 
the fore part of the boat, and was brought aft to the Queen’s 
presence, the wherry at the same time dropping into the 
30 rear. The youth underwent the gaze of majesty not the less 
gracefully that his self-possession was mingled with embar¬ 
rassment. The muddied cloak still hung upon his arm, and 
formed the natural topic with which the Queen introduced 
the conversation. 

35 “You have this day spoiled a gay mantle in our behalf, 
young man. We thank you for your service, though the 
manner of offering it was unusual, and something bold.” 

“In a sovereign’s need,” answered the youth, “it is each 
liege-man’s duty to be bold.” 

40 “God’s pity! that was well said, my lord,” said the 
Queen, turning to a grave person who sate by her, and an¬ 
swered with a grave inclination of the head and something 
of a mumbled assent. “Well, young man, your gallantry 


KENILWORTH 


173 






% 


f 


shall not go unrewarded. Go to the wardrobe-keeper, 
and he shall have orders to supply the suit which you 
have cast away in our service. Thou shalt have a suit, and 
that of the newest cut, I promise thee, on the word of a 
princess.” 5 

“May it please your Grace,” said Walter, hesitating, “it 
is not for so humble a servant of your Majesty to measure out 

your bounties; but if it became me to choose-” 

“Thou wouldst have gold, I warrant me?” said the Queen, 
interrupting him. “ Fy, young man ! I take shame to say i o 
that, in our capital, such and so various are the means of 
thriftless folly, that to give gold to youth is giving fuel to 
fire, and furnishing them with the means of self-destruction. 

If I live and reign, these means of unchristian excess shall be 
abridged. Yet thou mayest be poor,” she added, “or thy I 5 
parents may be. It shall be gold, if thou wilt, but thou shalt 
answer to me for the use on’t.” 

Walter waited patiently until the Queen had done, and 
then modestly assured her that gold was still less in his wish 
than the raiment her Majesty had before offered. 20 

“ How, boy !” said the Queen, “neither gold nor garment! 
What is it thou wouldst have of me, then ? ” 

“ Only permission, madam — if it is not asking too high an 
honour — permission to wear the cloak which did you this 
trifling service.” . 2 5 

“ Permission to wear thine own cloak, thou silly boy! 


said the Queen. 

“It is no longer mine,” said Walter; “when your 
Majesty’s foot touched it, it became a fit mantle for a prince, 
but far too rich a one for its former owner.” 30 

The Queen again blushed; and endeavoured to cover, by 
laughing, a slight degree of not unpleasing surprise and con¬ 


fusion. 

“ Heard you ever the like, my lords ? The youth’s head is 
turned with reading romances. I must know something of 35 
him, that I may send him safe to his friends. What art 
thou?” 

“A gentleman of the household of the Earl of Sussex, so 
please your Grace, sent hither with his master of horse, upon 
a message to your Majesty.” 4 ° 

In a moment the gracious expression which Elizabeth s 
face had hitherto maintained gave way to an expression of 
haughtiness and severity. 




174 


KENILWORTH 


My Lord of Sussex,” she said, “has taught us how to re¬ 
gard his messages, by the value he places upon ours. We 
sent but this morning the physician in ordinary of our cham¬ 
ber, and that at no usual time, understanding his lordship’s 
S illness to be more dangerous than we had before appre¬ 
hended. There is at no court in Europe a man more skilled 
in this holy and most useful science than Doctor Masters, 
and he came from us to our subject. Nevertheless, he found 
the gate of Say s Court defended by men with culverins as if 
10 ^ had been on the Borders of Scotland, not in the vicinity 
of our court; and when he demanded admittance in our 
name, it was stubbornly refused. For this slight of a kind¬ 
ness, which had but too much of condescension in it, we will 
receive, at present at least, no excuse; and some such we 
15 suppose to have been the purport of my Lord of Sussex’s 
message.” 

t cl Was ottered in a tone, and with a gesture, which made 
Lord Sussex s friends who were within hearing tremble. He 
to whom the speech was addressed, however, trembled not ■ 
20 but with great deference and humility, as soon as the Queen’s 
passion gave him an opportunity, he replied: “So please your 
most gracious Majesty, I was charged with no apology from 
the Earl of Sussex.” 

„ what were you then charged, sir ? ” said the Queen, 

25 with the impetuosity which, amid nobler qualities, stronglv 
marked her character; “ was it with a justification ? or, God’s 
death! with a defiance?” 


“Madam,” said the young man, “my Lord of Sussex 
Knew the offence approached towards treason, and could 
30 think of nothing save of securing the offender, and placing 
him m your Majesty’s hands, and at your mercy. The noble 
earl was fast asleep when your most gracious message reached 
him, a potion having been administered to that purpose bv 
his physician; and his lordship knew not of the ungracious 
35 repulse your Majesty’s royal and most comfortable message 
aa d received until after he awoke this morning.” 

And which of his domestics, then, in the name of 
Heaven, presumed to reject my message, without even ad¬ 
mitting my own physician to the presence of him whom I 
40 sent hnn to attend?” said the Queen, much surprised, 
the offender, madam, is before you,” replied Walter 
bowing very low: “ the full and sole blame is mine; and mv 
lord has most justly sent me to abye the consequences of a 


KENILWORTH 


175 


fault of which he is as innocent as a sleeping man’s dreams 
can be of a waking man’s actions.” 

“What! was it thou? — thou thyself, that repelled my 
messenger and my physician from Say’s Court?” said the 
Queen. “What could occasion such boldness m one who 5 
seems devoted — that is, whose exterior bearing shows 
devotion — to his sovereign?” 

“Madam,” said the youth, who, notwithstanding an 
assumed appearance of severity, thought that he saw some¬ 
thing in the Queen’s face that resembled not implacability, 10 
“we say in our country that the physician is for the time 
the liege sovereign of his patient. Now, my noble master 
was then under dominion of a leech, by whose advice he hath 
ereatlv profited, who had issued his commands that his 
patient should not that night be disturbed, on the very peril 15 

° f ‘‘Thy 1 master hath trusted some false varlet of an empiric,” 

Sai “ l I t kno < w 1 n 0 t, madam, but by the fact that he is now, this 
very morning, awakened much refreshed and strengthened, 20 
from the onlv sleep he hath had for many hours. 

The nobleslooked at each other, but more with the purpose 
to see what each thought of this news than to exchange any 
remarks on what had happened. The Queen answered 
hastily, and without affecting to disguise her satisfaction. 25 
“ By my word, I am glad he is better. But thou wert over 
bold to deny the access of my Doctor Masters Know st thou 
not the Holy Writ saith, ‘ In the multitude of counsel there is 

Saf “Ay ? madam,” said Walter, “but I have heard learned 30 
men say that the safety spoken of is for the physicians, not 

f °“ By my^aith, child, thou hast pushed me home,” said the 
Queen, laughing; “for my Hebrew learning does not come 
quite at a call. How say you, my Lord of Lincoln? Hath 35 
the lad given a just interpretation of the text 

“The word ‘safety,’ most gracious madam said the 
Bishop of Lincoln, “ for so hath been translate d, it ; may be 
somewhat hastily, the Hebrew word, being — 

“My lord,” said the Queen, interrupting him, we said we 40 
had forgotten our Hebrew. But for thee, young man, what 

is thv name and birth?” . ,, 

“ Raleigh is my name, most gracious Queen, the 





176 


KENILWORTH 


youngest son of a large but honourable family of Devon¬ 
shire.” 

“ Raleigh !” said Elizabeth, after a moment’s recollection; 
“have we not heard of your service in Ireland?” 

5 “I have been so fortunate as to do some service there, 
madam,” replied Raleigh; “scarce, however, of consequence 
sufficient to reach your Grace’s ears.” 

“They hear farther than you think of,” said the Queen, 
graciously, “ and have heard of a youth who defended a ford 
io in Shannon 0 against a whole band of wild Irish rebels, until 
the stream ran purple with their blood and his own.” 

“ Some blood I may have lost,” said the youth, looking 
down, “ but it was where my best is due, and that is in your 
Majesty’s service.” 

15 The Queen paused, and then said hastily: “You are very 
young to have fought so well and to speak so well. But you 
must not escape your penance for turning back Masters. 
The poor man hath caught cold on the river; for our order 
reached him when he was just returned from certain visits in 
20 London, and he held it matter of loyalty and conscience in¬ 
stantly to set forth again. So hark ye, Master Raleigh, see 
thou fail not to wear thy muddy cloak, in token of penitence, 
till our pleasure be farther known. And here,” she added, 
giving him a jewel of gold in the form of a chessman, “ I give 
25 thee this to wear at the collar.” 

Raleigh, to whom nature had taught intuitively, as it were, 
those courtly arts which many scarce acquire from long 
experience, knelt, and, as he took from her hand the jewel, 
kissed the fingers which gave it. He knew, perhaps, better 
30 than almost any of the courtiers who surrounded her, how 
to mingle the devotion claimed by the Queen with the gal¬ 
lantry due to her personal beauty; and in this, his first at¬ 
tempt to unite them, he succeeded so well as at once to 
gratify Elizabeth’s personal vanity and her love of power. 
35 His master, the Earl of Sussex, had the full advantage of 
the satisfaction which Raleigh had afforded Elizabeth on 
their first interview. 

“ My lords and ladies,” said the Queen, looking around to 
the retinue by whom she was attended, “methinks, since we 
40 are upon the river, it were well to renounce our present pur¬ 
pose of going to the city, and surprise this poor Earl of Sussex 
with a visit. He is ill, and suffering doubtless under the fear 
of our displeasure, from which he hath been honestly cleared 




KENILWORTH 


177 


by the frank avowal of this malapert boy. What think ye? 
Were it not an act of charity to give him such consolation 
as the thanks of a queen, much bound to him for his loyal 
service, may perchance best minister ? ” 

It may be readily supposed that none to whom this speech 5 
was addressed ventured to oppose its purport. 

“ Your Grace,” said the Bishop of Lincoln, “is the breath 
of our nostrils.” The men of war averred that the face of the 
sovereign was a whetstone to the soldier’s sword; while the 
men of state were not less of opinion that the light of the 10 
Queen’s countenance was a lamp to the paths of her council¬ 
lors; and the ladies agreed with one voice that no noble in 
England so well deserved the regard of England’s royal mis¬ 
tress as the Earl of Sussex — the Earl of Leicester’s right 
being reserved entire, so some of the more politic worded 15 
their assent — an exception to which Elizabeth paid no ap¬ 
parent attention. The barge had, therefore, orders to de¬ 
posit its royal freight at Deptford, at the nearest and most 
convenient point of communication with Say’s Court, in 
order that the Queen might satisfy her royal and maternal 20 
solicitude by making personal inquiries after the health of 
the Earl of Sussex. . . 

Raleigh, whose acute spirit foresaw and anticipated impor¬ 
tant consequences from the most trifling events, hastened 
to ask the Queen’s permission to go in the skiff, and an-25 
nounce the royal visit to his master; ingeniously suggesting 
that the joyful surprise might prove prejudicial to his health, 
since the richest and most generous cordials may sometimes 
be fatal to those who have been long in a languishing state. 

But whether the Queen deemed it too presumptuous in so 30 
young a courtier to interpose his opinion unasked, or whether 
she was moved by a recurrence of the feeling of jealousy, 
which had been instilled into her by reports that the earl kept 
armed men about his person, she desired Raleigh, sharply, to 
reserve his counsel till it was required of him, and repeated 35 
her former orders to be landed at Deptford, adding: We 
will ourselves see what sort of household my Lord of Sussex 

keeps about him.” . , , 

“ Now the Lord have pity on us !” said the young courtier 
to himself. “ Good hearts the earl hath many a one round 40 
him but good heads are scarce with us; and he himself is too 
ill to give direction. And Blount will be at his morning meal 
of Yarmouth herrings and ale; and Tracy will have his 


N 




178 


KENILWORTH 


beastly black puddings and Rhenish; those thorough-paced 
Welshmen, Thomas ap Rice and Evan Evans, will be at work 
on their leek porridge and toasted cheese; and she detests, 
they say, all coarse meats, evil smells, and strong wines. 

5 Could they but think of burning some rosemary in the great 
hall! but vogue la galere , 0 all must now be trusted to chance. 
Luck hath done indifferent well for me this morning, for I 
trust I have spoiled a cloak and made a court fortune. May 
she do as much for my gallant patron!” 
io The royal barge soon stopped at Deptford, and, amid the 
loud shouts of the populace, which her presence never failed 
to excite, the Queen, with a canopy borne over her head, 
walked, accompanied by her retinue, towards Say’s Court, 
where the distant acclamations of the people gave the first 
15 notice of her arrival. Sussex, who was in the act of advising 
with Tressilian how he should make up the supposed breach 
in the Queen’s favour, was infinitely surprised at learning 
her immediate app'roach — not that the Queen’s custom of 
visiting her more distinguished nobility, whether in health 
20 or sickness, could be unknown to him; but the suddenness of 
the communication left no time for those preparations with 
which he well knew Elizabeth loved to be greeted, and the 
rudeness and confusion of his military household, much in¬ 
creased by his late illness, rendered him altogether unpre- 
25 pared for her reception. 

Cursing internally the chance which thus brought her gra¬ 
cious visitation on him unaware, he hastened down with 
Tressilian, to whose eventful and interesting story he had 
just given an attentive ear. 

30 “My worthy friend,” he said, “such support as I can give 

your accusation of Varney, you have a right to expect, alike 
from justice and gratitude. Chance will presently show 
whether I can do aught with our sovereign, or whether, in 
very deed, my meddling in your affair may not rather preju- 
;35 dice than serve you.” 

Thus spoke Sussex, while hastily casting around him a 
loose robe of sables, and adjusting his person in the best 
manner he could to meet the eye of his sovereign. But no 
hurried attention bestowed on his apparel could remove the 
40 ghastly effects of long illness on a countenance which nature 
4 had-marked with features rather strong than pleasing. 
Besides, he was low of stature, and, though broad-shouldered, 
athletic, and fit for martial achievements, his presence in a 



KENILWORTH 


179 


i5 


peaceful hall was not such as ladies love to look upon - 
a personal disadvantage which was supposed to give Sussex, 
though esteemed and honoured by his sovereign, considerable 
disadvantage when compared with Leicester, who was alike 
remarkable for elegance of manners and for beauty of person. 5 > 

The earl s utmost despatch only enabled him to meet the 
Queen as she entered the great hall, and he at once perceived 
there was a cloud on her brow. Her jealous eye had noticed' 
the martial array of armed gentlemen and retainers with 
which the mansion-house was filled, and her first words ex- 10 
pressed her disapprobation: “Is this a royal garrison, my 
Lord of Sussex, that it holds so many pikes and calivers? 

Or have we by accident overshot Say’s Court, and landed 
at our Tower of London?” 

Lord Sussex hastened to offer some apology. 

“ It needs not,” she said. “ My lord, we intend speedily to 
take up a certain quarrel between your lordship and another 
great lord of our household, and at the same time to repre¬ 
hend this uncivilised and dangerous practice of surrounding 
yourselves with armed, and even with ruffianly, followers, as 20 
if in the neighbourhood of our capital, nay, in the very 
verge of our royal residence, you were preparing to wage 
civil war with each other. We are glad to see you so well 
recovered, my lord, though without the assistance of the 
learned physician whom we sent to you. Urge no excuse; 25 
we know how that matter fell out, and we have corrected for 
it the wild slip, young Raleigh. By the way, my lord we 
will speedily relieve your household of him, and take him 
into our own. Something there is about him which merits 
to be better nurtured than he is like to be amongst your 30 
very military followers.” 

To this proposal Sussex, though scarce understanding how 
the Queen came to make it, could only bow and express his 
acquiescence. He then entreated her to remain till refresh¬ 
ment could be offered, but in this he could not prevail. 35 
And after a few compliments of a much colder and more 
commonplace character than might have been expected from 
a step so decidedly favourable as a personal visit, the Queen 
took her leave of Say’s Court, having brought confusion 
thither along with her, and leaving doubt and apprehension 
behind. 






CHAPTER XVI 


Then call them to our presence. Face to face, 

And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear 
The accuser and accused freely speak ; 

High-stomach’d are they both and full of ire, 

In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. 

Richard II. 

“ I am ordered to attend court to-morrow,” said Leicester, 
speaking to Varney, “to meet, as they surmise, my Lord of 
Sussex. The Queen intends to take up matters betwixt us. 
This comes of her visit to Say’s Court, of which you must 
5 needs speak so lightly.” 

“I maintain it was nothing,” said Varney; “nay, I know 
from a sure intelligencer who was within ear-shot of much 
that was said, that Sussex has lost rather than gained by that 
visit. The Queen said, when she stepped into the boat, that 
io Say’s Court looked like a guard-house, and smelt like an 
hospital. ‘Like a cook’s shop in Ram’s Alley, 0 rather,’ said 
the Countess of Rutland, who is ever your lordship’s good 
friend. And then my Lord of Lincoln must needs put in his 
holy oar, and say, that my Lord of Sussex must be excused 
15 for his rude and old-world housekeeping, since he had as yet 
no wife.” 

“And what said the Queen?” asked Leicester, hastily. 

“ She took him up roundly,” said Varney, “and asked what 
my Lord of Sussex had to do with a wife, or my lord bishop 
20 to speak on such a subject. ‘ If marriage is permitted,’ she 
said, 1 1 nowhere read that it is enjoined.’ ” 

She likes not marriages, or speech of marriage, among 
churchmen,” said Leicester. 

“Nor among courtiers neither,” said Varney; but, ob- 
25 serving that Leicester changed countenance, he instantly 
added: That all the ladies who were present had joined in 
ridiculing Lord Sussex’s housekeeping, and in contrasting it 
with the reception her Grace would have assuredly received 
at my Lord of Leicester’s.” 







KENILWORTH 


181 


“You have gathered much tidings, ” said Leicester, but 
you have forgotten or omitted the most important of ail. 

She hath added another to those dangling satellites whom 
it is her pleasure to keep revolving around her. 

“Your lordship meaneth that Raleigh, the Devonshire 5 
youth, 1 ” said' Varney — “ the Knight of the Cloak, as they 

call him at court?” t T 

« He may be Knight of the Garter one day, for aught 1 
know,” said Leicester, “for he advances rapidly. She hath 
cap’d verses with him,° and such fooleries. I would gladly 10 
abandon, of my own free will, the part I have m her fickle 
favour; but I will not be elbowed out of it by the clown Sus¬ 
sex or this new upstart. I hear Tressilian is with Sussex 
also and high in his favour. I would spare him for con¬ 
siderations, but he will thrust himself on his fate. Sussex, 15 
too, is almost as well as ever m his health. 

“My lord,” replied Varney, “there will be rubs m the 
smoothest road, specially when it leads up-hill. Sussex s 
illness was to us a god-send, from which I hoped much. He 
has recovered, indeed, but he is not now more formidable than 20 
ere he fell ill, when he received more than one foil m wrestling 
with your lordship. Let not your heart fail you, my lord, 

ail “My heart never failed me, sir,” replied Leicester. 

“No my lord,” said Varney; “but it has betrayed you 25 
right often. He that would climb a tree, my lord, must 
grasp by the branches, not by the blossom. * 

“Well —well —well!” said Leicester, impatiently, I 

understand thy meaning My hearl.shall 30 
<*ftdiipp me Have my retinue m order; see that their array 30 
be so spTendid as to put down not only the rude companions 

^M-^=rw=!*S==i=- 

to me, I may have business for you. 


The preparations ot Sussex and his party were not less 

atl ^Thy ^implication^ impeaching Varney of seduction ” 
said^e S P to°TrLilian P “is by this in the Queen’s 40 

hnnd T have sent it through a sure channel. JVietmriKS 
your suit should succeed, being, as it is, founded m justice 





182 


KENILWORTH 


and honour, and Elizabeth being the very muster of both. 
But, I wot not how, the gipsy (so Sussex was wont to cali 
his rival, on account of his dark complexion) hath much to 
say with her in these holyday times of peace. Were war at 
5 the gates, I should be one of her white boys; but soldiers like 
their bucklers and Bilboa blades, 0 get out of fashion in peace 
time, and satin sleeves and walking rapiers bear the bell ° 
Well, we must be gay, since such is the fashion. Blount, 
hast thou seen our household put into their new braveries ? 
io But thou know’st as little of these toys as I do; thou wouldst 
be ready enow at disposing a stand of pikes.” 

“My good lord,” answered Blount, “Raleigh hath been 
here, and taken that charge upon him. Your train will 
glitter like a May morning. Marry, the cost is another 
is question. One might keep an hospital of old soldiers at the 
charge of ten modern lackeys.” 

. We must not count cost to-day, Nicholas,” said the earl 
m reply. “I am beholden to Raleigh for his care; I trust 
though, he has remembered that I am an old soldier, and 
20 would have no more of these follies than needs must.” 

“Nay, I understand nought about it,” said Blount■’ “but 
here are your honourable lordship’s brave kinsmen and 
friends coming in by scores to wait upon you to court, where 
methinks, we shall bear as brave a front as Leicester let 
25 him ruffle it as he will.” 

“Give them the strictest charges,” said Sussex, “that they 
suffer no provocation short of actual violence to provoke them 
into quarrel: they have hot bloods, and I would not give 
Leicester the advantage over me by any imprudence of 
30 theirs.” 

The Earl of Sussex ran so hastily through these directions 
that it was with difficulty Tressilian at length found oppor¬ 
tunity to express his surprise, that he should have proceeded 
so far m the affair of Sir Hugh Robsart as to lay his petition 
35 at once before the Queen. “ It was the opinion of the young 
^y. 1 ® fiends, ’ he said, “that Leicester’s sense of justice 
should be first appealed to, as the offence had been com- 
Sussex °® cer > an d so he had expressly told to 

40 .^This could have been done without applying to me ” 
said Sussex, somewhat haughtily. “ /, at least, ought not to 
have been a counsellor when the object was a humiliating 
reference to Leicester; and I am surprised that you, Tres- 



KENILWORTH 


183 


silian, a man of honour, and my friend, would assume such 
a mean course. If you said so, I certainly understood you 
not in a matter which sounded so unlike yourself. 

“ My lord/’ said Tressilian, “ the course I would prefer, tor 
my own sake, is that you have,adopted; but the friends ot 5 

this most unhappy lady-” 

“ Oh, the friends — the friends, said Sussex, interrupting 
him • “ they must let us manage this cause in the way which 
seems best. This is the time and the hour to accumulate 
every charge against Leicester and his household, and yours 10 
the Queen will hold a heavy one. But at all events she hath 
the complaint before her.” , , . _ . 

Tressilian could not help suspecting that, m his eagerness 
to strengthen himself against his rival, Sussex had purposely 
adopted the course most likely to throw odium on Leicester 15 
without considering minutely whether it were the mode of 
proceeding most likely to be attended with success. But the 
step was irrevocable, and Sussex escaped fro™- farther d s- 
cussing it by dismissing his company with the command . 

“ Let all be in order at eleven o’ clock; I must be at court and 20 
in the presence by high noon precisely.” 

While the rival statesmen were thus anxiously preparing 
for their approaching meeting in the Queen’s presence, even 
Elizabeth herself was not without apprehension of what 
might chance from the collision of two such fiery spirits, each 25 
backed by a strong and numerous body of followers, and 
dividing betwixt them, either openly or in secret, the hopes 
and wishes of most of her court. The band of gentlemen 
pensioners were all under arms, and a reinforcement of the 
yeomen of the guard was brought down the Thames from 3 
London. A royal proclamation was sent forth, strictly pro¬ 
hibiting nobles, of whatever degree, to approach the palace 
with retainers or followers armed with shot or with long 
weapons; and it was even whispered that ^ she - 

of Kent had secret instructions to have a part of the array 35 
of the county ready on the shortest notice. 

The eventful hour, thus anxiously prepared for on all 
sides, at length approached, and, each followed by his 
long and glittering train of friends and followers, the 
rival earls entered the palace-yard of Greenwich at noon 40 

^AsTfby previous arrangement, or perhaps by intimation 








184 


KENILWORTH 


that such was the Queen’s pleasure, Sussex and his retinue 
came to the palace from Deptford by water, while Leicester 
arrived by land; and thus they entered the courtyard from 
opposite sides. This trifling circumstance gave Leicester a 
5 certain ascendency in the opinion of the vulgar, the appear¬ 
ance of his cavalcade of mounted followers showing more 
numerous and more imposing than those of Sussex’s party, 
who were necessarily upon foot. No show or sign of greeting 
passed between the earls, though each looked full at the 
io other, both expecting, perhaps, an exchange of courtesies, 
which neither was willing to commence. Almost in the 
minute of their arrival the castle bell tolled, the gates of the 
palace were opened, and the earls entered, each numerously 
attended by such gentlemen of their train whose rank gave 
15 them that privilege. The yeomen and inferior attendants 
remained in the courtyard, where the opposite parties eyed 
each other with looks of eager hatred and scorn, as if waiting 
with impatience for some cause of tumult, or some apology 
for mutual aggression. But they were restrained by the 
20 strict commands of their leaders, and overawed, perhaps, by 
the presence of an armed guard of unusual strength. 

In the mean while, the more distinguished persons of each 
train followed their patrons into the lofty halls andante- 
chambers of the royal palace, flowing on in the same current, 
25 like two streams which are compelled into the same channel, 
yet shun to mix their waters. The parties arranged them¬ 
selves, as it were instinctively, on the different sides of the 
lofty apartments, and seemed eager to escape from the tran¬ 
sient union which the narrowness of the crowded entrance 
30 had for an instant compelled them to submit to. The fold¬ 
ing-doors at the upper end of the long gallery were imme¬ 
diately afterwards opened, and it was announced in a whisper 
that the Queen was in her presence-chamber, to which these 
gave access. Both earls moved slowly and stately towards 
35 the entrance — Sussex followed by Tressilian, Blount, and 
Raleigh, and Leicester by Varney. The pride of Leicester 
was obliged to give way to court forms, and, with a grave 
and formal inclination of the head, he paused until his rival, 
a peer of older creation than his own, passed before him. 
40 Sussex returned the reverence with the same formal civility, 
and entered the presence-room. Tressilian and Blount 
offered to follow him, but were not permitted, the Usher of 
the Black Rod° alleging in excuse, that he had precise 



KENILWORTH 


185 


orders to look to all admissions that day. To Raleigh, who 
stood back on the repulse of his companions, he said, “ You, 
sir, may enter/' and he entered accordingly. 

“Follow me close, Varney/' said the Earl of Leicester, 
who had stood aloof for a moment to mark the reception of 5 
Sussex; and, advancing to the entrance, he was about to 
pass on, when Varney, who was close behind him, dressed 
out in the utmost bravery of the day, was stopped by the 
usher, as Tressilian and Blount had been before him. “ How 
is this, Master Bowyer ? " said the Earl of Leicester. “ Know 10 
you who I am, and that this is my friend and follower? 

“ Your lordship will pardon me,” replied Bowyer stoutly; 

11 my orders are precise, and limit me to a strict discharge of 

m “Thou’ art a partial knave,” said Leicester, the blood 15 
mounting to his face, “to do me this dishonour, when you 
but now admitted a follower of my Lord of Sussex.” 

“My lord,” said Bowyer, “Master Raleigh is newly ad¬ 
mitted a sworn servant of her Grace, and to him my orders 

did not apply.” „ 1 , ,, ., T • 20 

« Thou art a knave — an ungrateful knave, said Leices¬ 
ter ; “ but he that hath done can undo: thou shalt not prank 
thee in thy authority long!" 

This threat he uttered aloud, with less than his usual policy 
and discretion, and having done so, he entered the presence- 25 
chamber, and made his reverence to the Queen, who, attired 
with even more than her usual splendour, and surrounded by 
those nobles and statesmen whose courage and wisdom have 
rendered her reign immortal, stood ready to receive the 
homage of her subjects. She graciously returned the obei- 30 
sance of the favourite earl, and looked alternately at him 
and at Sussex, as if about to speak, when Bowyer, a man 
whose spirit could not brook the insult he had so openly 
received from Leicester, in the discharge of his office, ad¬ 
vanced with his black rod in his hand, and knelt down before 35 

^“Why, how now, Bowyer ?" said Elizabeth, “ thy- cour¬ 
tesy seems strangely timed!" 

“ My liege sovereign,” he said, while every courtier around 
trembled at his audacity, “ I come but to ask whether, m the 40 
discharge of mine office, I am to obey your Highness s com¬ 
mands or those of the Earl of Leicester, who has publicly 
menaced me with his displeasure, and treated me with dis- 




186 


KENILWORTH 


paraging terms, because I denied entry to one of his fol¬ 
lowers, in obedience to your Grace’s precise orders?” 

The spirit of Henry VIII. was instantly aroused in the 
bosom of his daughter, and she turned on Leicester with a, 
5 severity which appalled him, as well as all his followers. 

“God’s death ! my lord,” such was her emphatic phrase,, 
“what means this? We have thought well of you, and 
brought you near to our person; but it was not that you 
might hide the sun from our other faithful subjects. Who> 
iogave you license to contradict our orders or control our 
officers? I will have in this court, ay, and in this realm, but. 
one mistress, and no master. Look to it that Master Bow- 
yer sustains no harm for his duty to me faithfully discharged; 
for, as I am Christian woman and crowned queen, I will hold 
15 you dearly answerable. Go, Bowyer, you have done the 
part of an honest man and a true subject. We will brook 
no mayor of the palace here.” 

Bowyer kissed the hand which she extended towards him, 
and withdrew to his post, astonished at the success of his 
20 own audacity. A smile of triumph pervaded the faction of 
Sussex; that of Leicester seemed proportionally dismayed, 
and the favourite himself, assuming an aspect of the deepest 
humility, did not even attempt a word in his own excul¬ 
pation. 

25 He acted wisely; for it was the policy of Elizabeth to 
humble, not to disgrace him, and it was prudent to suffer her, 
without opposition or reply, to glory in the exertion of her 
authority. The dignity of the Queen was gratified, and the 
woman began soon to feel for the mortification which she had 
30 imposed on her favourite. Her keen eye also observed the 
secret looks of congratulation exchanged amongst those who 
favoured Sussex, and it was no part of her policy to give 
either party a decisive triumph. 

“ What I say to my Lord of Leicester,” she said, after a 
35 moment’s pause, “I say also to you, my Lord of Sussex. 
You also must needs ruffle in the court of England, at the 
head of a faction of your own?” 

“My followers, gracious princess,” said Sussex, “have in¬ 
deed ruffled in your cause in Ireland, in Scotland, and 
40 against yonder rebellious earls in the north. I am ignorant 
that-” 

“Do you bandy looks and words with me, my lord?” 
said the Queen, interrupting him; “methinks you might 



KENILWORTH 


187 


leam <of my Lord of Leicester the modesty to be silent, at 
least, under our censure. I say, my lord, that my grand¬ 
father nnd my father, in their wisdom, debarred the nobles 
of this civilised land from travelling with such disorderly 
Tetinues; and think you that, because I wear a coif, theirs 
sceptre has in my hand been changed into a distaff? I tell 
you, no king in Christendom will less brook his court to be 
cumbered, his people oppressed, and his kingdom's peace 
disturbed, by the arrogance of overgrown power, than she 
who now speaks with you. My Lord of Leicester, and you, io 
my Lord of Sussex, I command you both to be friends with 
each other; or, by the crown I wear, you shall find an enemy 
who will be too strong for both of you ! ” 

“ Madam," said the Earl of Leicester, “you, who are your¬ 
self the fountain of honour, know best what is due to mine. 15 
I place it at your disposal, and only say, that the terms on 
which I have stood with my Lord of Sussex have not been of 
m y seeking; nor had he cause to think me his enemy until 
he had done me gross wrong." 

“For me, madam," said the Earl of Sussex, “I cannot 20 
appeal from your sovereign pleasure; but I were well con¬ 
tent my Lord of Leicester should say in what I have, as he 
terms it, wronged him, since my tongue never spoke the 
word that I would not willingly justify either on foot or 
horseback." . 2 5 

“ And for me," said Leicester, “always under my gracious 
sovereign's pleasure, my hand shall be as ready to make 
good my words as that of any man who ever wrote himself 

Ratcliffe." , ... 

“My lords," said, the Queen, “these are no terms for this 30 
presence; and if you cannot keep your temper we will find 
means to keep both that and you close enough. Let me see 
you join hands, my lords, and forget your idle animosities. 

The two rivals looked at each other with reluctant eyes, 
each unwilling to make the first advance to execute the 35 

Queen's will. _ . T 

“ Sussex," said Elizabeth, “ I entreat *— Leicester, I com¬ 
mand you." , 

Yet, so were her words accented, that the entreaty 
sounded like command and the command like entreaty. 40 
They remained still and stubborn, until she raised her voice 
to a height which argued at once impatience and absolute 
command. 



KENIL WORTH 


188 


“Sir Henry Lee,” she said to an officer in attendance, 
“have a guard in present readiness, and man a barge in¬ 
stantly. My Lords of Sussex and Leicester, I bid you once 
more to join hands — and, God’s death ! he that refuses 
5 shall taste of our Tower fare ere he see our face again. 

I will lower your proud hearts ere we part, and that I 
promise, on the word of a queen !” 

“The prison,” said Leicester, “might be borne, but to lose 
your Grace’s presence were to lose light and life at once, 
io Here, Sussex, is my hand.” 

“And here,” said Sussex, “is mine in truth and honesty; 
but-” 

“ Nay, under favour, you shall add no more,” said the 
Queen. “ Why, this is as it should be,” she added, looking 
15 on them more favourably, “ and when you, the shepherds of 
the people, unite to protect them, it shall be well with the 
flock we rule over. For, my lords, I tell you plainly, your 
follies and your brawls lead to strange disorders among your 
servants. My Lord of Leicester, you have a gentleman in 
20 your household called Varney?” 

“Yes, gracious madam,” replied Leicester; “I presented 
him to kiss your royal hand when you were last at Non¬ 
such.” 

“His outside was well enough,” said the Queen, “but 
25 scarce so fair, I should have thought, as to have caused a 
maiden of honourable birth and hopes to barter her fame 
for his good looks, and become his paramour. Yet so it is: 
this fellow of yours hath seduced the daughter of a good old 
Devonshire knight, Sir Hugh Robsart of Lidcote Hall, and 
30 she hath fled with him from her father’s house like a casta¬ 
way. My Lord of Leicester, are you ill, that you look so 
deadly pale?” 

“No, gracious madam,” said Leicester, and it required 
every effort he could make to bring forth these few words. 
35 “You are surely ill, my lord?” said Elizabeth, going 
towards him with hasty speech and hurried step, which 
indicated the deepest concern. “Call Masters — call our 
surgeon in ordinary. Where be these loitering fools? 
We lose the pride of our court through their negligence. 
40 Or is it possible, Leicester,” she continued, looking on him 
with a very gentle aspect — “ can fear of my displeasure 
have wrought so deeply on thee? Doubt not for a moment, 
noble Dudley, that we could blame thee for the folly of thy 









KENILWORTH 


189 


retainer — thee, whose thoughts ,we know to be far other¬ 
wise employed ! He that would climb the eagle’s nest, my 
lord, cares not who are catching linnets at the foot of the 
precipice.” ^ 

“ Mark you that?” said Sussex, aside to Raleigh. The 5 
devil aids him surely ! for all that would sink another ten 
fathom deep seems but to make him float the more easily. 

Had a follower of mine acted thus-” 

“Peace, my good lord,” said Raleigh — “for God s sake, 
peace ! Wait the change of the tide; it is even now on the 10 
turn." 


The acute observation of Raleigh, perhaps, did not de¬ 
ceive him; for Leicester’s confusion was so great, and, 
indeed, for the moment, so irresistibly overwhelming, that 
Elizabeth, after looking at him with a wondering eye, and 15 
receiving no intelligible answer to the unusual expressions of 
grace and affection which had escaped from her, shot her 
quick glance around the circle of courtiers, and reading, 
perhaps, in their faces something that accorded with her 
own awakened suspicions, she said suddenly: Or is there 20 
more in this than we see, or than you, my lord, wish that we 
should see? Where is this Varney? Who saw him? 

“An it please your Grace,” said Bowyer,“ it is the same 
against whom I this instant closed the door of the presence- 
room, ^ 

“An it please me!” repeated Elizabeth, sharply, not at 
that moment in the humour of being pleased with any¬ 
thing;. “ It does not please me that he should pass saucily 
into & my presence, or that you should exclude from it one 
who came to justify himself from an accusation. <( 3° 

“ May it please you,” answered the perplexed usher, it i 
knew, in such case, how to bear myself, I would take heed 
“You should have reported’the fellow s desire to us, Mas¬ 
ter Usher, and taken our directions. You think yourself a 
great man, because but now we chid a nobleman on your ac- 35 
Count; yet, after all, we hold you but as the lead-weight that 
keeps the door fast. Call this Varney hither instantly; there 
is one Tressilian also mentioned m this petition, let them 

both come before us.” , 

She was obeyed, and Tressilian and Varney appeared ac- 40 
cordingly. Varney’s first glance was at Leicester, his second 
at the Uueen. In the looks of the latter there appeared an 
approaching storm, and in the downcast countenance of his 






190 


KENILWORTH 


patron he could read no directions in what way he was to 
trim his vessel for the encounter; he then saw Tressilian, and 
at once perceived the peril of the situation in which he was 
placed. But Varney was as bold-faced and ready-witted as 
5 he was cunning and unscrupulous — a skilful pilot in ex¬ 
tremity, and fully conscious of the advantages which he 
would obtain, could he extricate Leicester from his present 
peril, and of the ruin that yawned for himself should he fail 
in doing so. 

io “Is it true, sirrah,” said the Queen, with one of those 
searching looks which few had the audacity to resist, “that 
you have seduced to infamy a young lady of birth and 
breeding, the daughter of Sir Hugh Robsart of Lidcote 
Hall?” 

15 Varney kneeled down, and replied, with a look of the most 
profound contrition: “There had been some love passages 
betwixt him and Mistress Amy Robsart.” 

Leicester’s flesh quivered with indignation as he heard his 
dependant make this avowal, and for one moment he 

20 manned himself to step forward, and, bidding farewell to 
the court and the royal favour, confess the whole mystery of 
the secret marriage. But he looked at Sussex, and the idea 
of the triumphant smile which would clothe his cheek upon 
hearing the avowal sealed his lips. “Not now, at least,” 

25 he thought, “ or in this presence, will I afford him so rich 
a triumph.” And pressing his lips close together, he stood 
firm and collected, attentive to each word which Varney 
uttered, and determined to hide to the last the secret on 
which his court favour seemed to depend. Meanwhile, the 

30 Queen proceeded in her examination of Varney. 

“Love passages!” said she, echoing his last words; 
“what passages, thou knave? and why not ask the wench’s 
hand from her father, if thou hadst any honesty in thy love 
for her ? ” 

35 “ An it please your Grace,” said Varney, still on his knees, 

“ I dared not do so, for her father had promised her hand to 
a gentleman of birth and honour — I will do him justice, 
though I know he bears me ill-will — one Master Edmund 
Tressilian, whom I now see in the presence.” 

40 “Soh !” replied the Queen; “and what was your right to 

make the simple fool break her worthy father’s contract, 
through your love passages, as your conceit and assurance 
terms them ? ” 



KENILWORTH 


191 


“Madam,” replied Varney, “it is in vain to plead the 
cause of human frailty before a judge to whom it is unknown, 

or that of love to one who never yields to the passion-” 

he paused an instant, and then added in a very low and 
timid tone — “ which she inflicts upon all others.” 5 

Elizabeth tried to frown, but smiled in her own despite, as 
she answered: “Thou art a marvellously impudent knave. 
Art thou married to the girl ? ” 

Leicester’s feelings became so complicated and so painfully 
intense, that it seemed to him as if his life was to depend on 10 
the answer made by Varney, who, after a moment’s real 
hesitation, answered: “Yes.” 

“Thou false villain!” said Leicester, bursting forth into 
rage, yet unable to add another word to the sentence, which 
he had begun with such emphatic passion. 15 

“ Nay, my lord,” said the Queen, “we will, by your leave, 
stand between this fellow and your anger. We have not yet 
done with him. Knew your master, my Lord of Leicester, 
of this fair work of yours ? Speak truth, I command thee, 
and I will be thy warrant from danger on every quarter.” 20 
“Gracious madam,” said Varney, “to speak Heaven’s 
truth, my lord was the cause of the whole matter.” 

“Thou villain, wouldst thou betray me?” said Leicester. 

“ Speak on,” said the Queen, hastily, her cheek colouring 
and her eyes sparkling as she addressed Varney— “speak 25 
on; here no commands are heard but mine.” 

“They are omnipotent, gracious madam,” replied Varney; 
“and to you there can be no secrets. Yet I would not,” he 
added, looking around him, “speak of my master’s concerns 
-to other ears.” 3 ° 

« Fall back, my lords,” said the Queen to those who sur¬ 
rounded her, “ and do you speak on. What hath the earl to 
do with this guilty intrigue of thine? See, fellow, that thou 
beliest him not! ” 

“ Far be it from me to traduce my noble patron,” replied 35 
Varney; “yet I am compelled to own that some deep, over¬ 
whelming, yet secret feeling hath of late dwelt in my lord’s 
mind, hath abstracted him from the cares of the household, 
which he was wont to govern w T ith such religious strictness, 
and hath left us opportunities to do follies, of which the 40 
shame, as in this case, partly falls upon our patron. With¬ 
out this, I had not had means or leisure to commit the folly 
which has drawn on me his displeasure, the heaviest to 



192 


KENILWORTH 


endure by me which I could by any means incur — saving 
always the yet more dreaded resentment of your Grace.” 

“ And in this sense, and no other, hath he been accessary to 
thy fault?” said Elizabeth. 

5 “Surely, madam, in no other,” replied Varney; “but, 
since somewhat hath chanced to him, he can scarce be called 
his own man. Look at him, madam, how pale and trembling 
he stands — how unlike his usual majesty of manner; yet 
what has he to fear from aught I can say to your Highness? 
io Ah ! madam, since he received that fatal packet! ” 

“What packet, and from whence?” said the Queen, 
eagerly. 

“ From whence, madam, I cannot guess; but I am so near 
to his person that I know he has ever since worn, suspended 
15 around his neck and next to his heart, that lock of hair which 
sustains a small golden jewel shaped like a heart. He speaks 
to it when alone; he parts not from it when he sleeps. No 
heathen ever worshipped an idol with such devotion.” 

“ Thou art a prying knave to watch thy master so closely,” 
20 said Elizabeth, blushing, but not with anger; “ and a tattling 
knave to tell over again his fooleries. What colour might 
the braid of hair be that thou pratest of ? ” 

Varney replied: “ A poet, madam, might call it a thread 
from the golden web wrought by Minerva; but, to my think- 
25 ing, it was paler than even the purest gold — more like the 
last parting sunbeam of the softest day of spring.” 

“ Why, you are a poet yourself, Master Varney,” said the 
Queen, smiling; “but I have not genius quick enough to 
follow your rare metaphors. Look round these ladies — is 
30 there (she hesitated, and endeavoured to assume an air of 
great indifference) — is there here, in this presence, any 
lady, the colour of whose hair reminds thee of that braid? 
Methinks, without prying into my Lord of Leicester’s 
amorous secrets, I would fain know what kind of locks are 
35 like the thread of Minerva’s web, or the —- what was it? — 
the last rays of the May-day sun.” 

Varney looked round the presence-chamber, his eye travel¬ 
ling from one lady to another, until at length it rested upon 
the Queen herself, but with an aspect of the deepest venera- 
4 o tion. “I see no tresses,” he said, “in this presence, worthy 
of such similes, unless where I dare not look on them/ 
“How, sir knave,” said the Queen, “dare you inti¬ 
mate -” 




ICE NIL WORTH 


193 


“ Nay, madam,” replied Varney, shading his eyes with his 
hand, “ it was the beams of the May-day sun that dazzled my 
weak eyes.” 

“Go to — go to,” said the Queen, “thou art a foolish 
fellow,” and turning quickly from him, she walked up to 5 
Leicester. 

Intense curiosity, mingled with all the various hopes, fears, 
and passions which influence court faction, had occupied the 
presence-chamber during the Queen’s conference with Var¬ 
ney, as if with the strength of an Eastern talisman. 0 Men 10 
suspended every, even the slightest, external motion, and 
would have ceased to breathe, had nature permitted such 
an intermission of her functions. The atmosphere was con¬ 
tagious, and Leicester, who saw all around wishing or fearing 
his advancement or his fall, forgot all that love had pre- 15 
viously dictated, and saw nothing for the instant but the 
favour or disgrace which depended on the nod of Elizabeth 
and the fidelity of Varney. He summoned himself hastily, 
and prepared to play his part in the scene which was like 
to ensue, when, as he judged from the glances which the 20 
Queen threw towards him, Varney’s communications, be 
they what dhey might, were operating in his favour. Eliza¬ 
beth did not long leave him in doubt; for the more than 
favour with which she accosted him decided his triumph 
in the eyes of his rival, and of the assembled court of Eng- 25 
land. “Thou hast a prating servant of this same Varney, 
my lord,” she said; “it is lucky you trust him with nothing 
that can hurt you in our opinion, for, believe me, he would 
keep no counsel.” 

“ From your Highness,” said Leicester, dropping gracefully 30 
on one knee, “it were treason he should. I would that my 
heart itself lay before you, barer than the tongue of any ser¬ 
vant could strip it.” 

“ What, my lord,” said Elizabeth, looking kindly upon him, 
“is there no one little corner over which you would wish to 35, 
spread a veil ? Ah ! I see you are confused at the question, 
and your Queen knows she should not look too deeply into 
her servants’ motives for their faithful duty, lest she see 
what might, or at least ought to, displease her.” 

Relieved by these last words, Leicester broke out into a 40 
torrent of expressions of deep and passionate attachment, 
which perhaps, at that moment, were not altogether fictitious. 
The mingled emotions which had at first overcome him, had 


o 



194 


KENILWORTH 


now given way to the energetic vigour with which he had de¬ 
termined to support his place in the Queen’s favour; and 
never did he seem to Elizabeth more eloquent, more hand¬ 
some, more interesting, than while, kneeling at her feet, he 
5 conjured her to strip him of all his power, but to leave him 
the name of her servant. “ Take from the poor Dudley,” he 
exclaimed, “ all that your bounty has made him, and bid him 
be the poor gentleman he was when your Grace first shone 
on him; leave him no more than his cloak and his sword, 
io but let him still boast he has — what in word or deed he 
never forfeited — the regard of his adored Queen and 
mistress! ” 

“ No, Dudley !” said Elizabeth, raising him with one hand, 
while she extended the other that he might kiss it; “ Eliza- 
15 beth hath not forgotten that, whilst you were a poor gentle¬ 
man, despoiled of your hereditary rank, she was as poor a 
princess, and that in her cause you then ventured all that op¬ 
pression had left you — your life and honour. Rise, my 
lord, and let my hand go. Rise, and be what you have 
20 ever been, the grace of our court and the support of our 
throne. Your mistress may be forced to chide your mis¬ 
demeanours, but never without owning your merits. And 
so help me God,” she added, turning to the audience, who, 
with various feelings, witnessed this interesting scene — 
25 “so help me God, gentlemen, as I think never sovereign had 
a truer servant than I have in this noble earl! ” 

A murmur of assent rose from the Leicestrian faction, 
which the friends of Sussex dared not oppose. They re¬ 
mained with their eyes fixed on the ground, dismayed as 
30 well as mortified by the public and absolute triumph of 
their opponents. Leicester’s first use of the familiarity to 
which the Queen had so publicly restored him was to ask 
her commands concerning Varney’s offence. “Although,” 
he said, “the fellow deserves nothing from me but dis- 

35 pleasure, yet, might I presume to intercede-” 

“In truth, we had forgotten his matter,” said the Queen; 
“and it was ill done of us, who owe justice to our meanest as 
well as to our highest subject. We are pleased, my lord, 
that you were the first to recall the matter to our memory. 
40 Where is Tressilian, the accuser? let him come before us.” 
Tressilian appeared, and made a low and beseeming rever¬ 
ence. His person, as we have elsewhere observed, had an 
air of grace, and even of nobleness, which did not escape 










KENILWORTH 


195 


Queen Elizabeth’s critical observation. She looked at him 
with attention, as he stood before her unabashed, but with 

an air of the deepest dejection. 

“ I cannot but grieve for this gentleman, she said to 
Leicester. “ I have inquired concerning him, and his pres- 5 
ence confirms what I heard, that he is a scholar and a sol¬ 
dier, well accomplished both in arts and arms. We women, 
my lord, are fanciful in our choice: I had said now, to judge 
by the eye, there was no comparison to be held betwixt your 
follower and this gentleman. But Varney is a well-spoken 10 
fellow, and, to speak truth, that goes far with us of the 
weaker sex. Look you, Master Tressilian, a bolt lost is not 
a bow broken. Your true affection, as I will hold it to be, 
hath been, it seems, but ill requited; but you have scholar¬ 
ship, and you know there have been false Cressidas to be 15 
found, from the Trojan war downwards. Forget, good sir, 
this lady light o’ love; teach your affection to see with a 
►wiser eye. This we say to you more from the writings of 
learned men than our own knowledge, being, as we are, 
far removed by station and will from the enlargement of 20 
experience in such idle toys of humorous passion. For 
this dame’s father, we can make his grief the less by advanc¬ 
ing his son-in-law to such station as may enable him to give 
an honourable support to his bride. Thou shalt not be 
forgotten thyself, Tressilian; follow our court, and thou 25 
shalt see that a true Troilus hath some claim on our grace. 
Think of what that arch-knave Shakspeare says — a plague 
on him, his toys come into my head when I should think of 
other matters! Stay, how goes it ? — 


Cressid was yours, tied with the bonds of heaven; 
These bonds of heaven are split, dissolved, and loosed, 
And with another knot five fingers tied, 

The fragments of her faith are bound to Diomed. 


3 C 


You smile, my Lord Southampton! Perchance I make 
your player’s verse halt through my bad memory; but let it 3: 
suffice: let there be no more of this mad matter. 

And as Tressilian kept the posture of one who would will¬ 
ingly be heard, though, at the same time, expressive of the 
deepest reverence, the Queen added with some impatience: 

“ What would the man have? The wench cannot wed both 4 < 
of you? She has made her election —not a wise one, per¬ 
chance, but she is Varney’s wedded wife.” 




196 


ICE NIL WORTH 


My su jt should sleep there, most gracious sovereign/’ 
said 1 ressilian, “and with my suit my revenge. But I hold 
this Varney’s word no good warrant for the truth.” 

Had that doubt been elsewhere urged,” answered Var- 
5 ney, “my sword-” 

“Thy sword!” interrupted Tressilian, scornfully; “with 

her Grace s leave, my sword shall show-” 

“Peace, you knaves — both !” said the Queen; “know 
you where you are? This comes of your feuds, my lords ” 
10 she added, looking towards Leicester and Sussex: “your 
followers catch your own humour, and must bandy and 
brawl m my court, and in my very presence, like so many 
Matamoros. Look you, sirs, he that speaks of drawing 
swords m any other quarrel than mine or England’s bv 
15 mine honour, I’ll bracelet him with iron both on wrist and 
ar ™ e ' ^he ^ en P a used a minute, and resumed in a 
milder tone: “I must do justice betwixt the bold and 
mutinous knaves notwithstanding. My Lord of Leicester 
will you warrant with your honour — that is, to the best of 
2 ° your belief — that your servant speaks truth in saying he 
hath married this Amy Robsart ? ” 

This was a home-thrust, and had nearly staggered Leicester. 
But he had now gone too far to recede, and answered 
after a moment’s hesitation: “To the best of my belief — 
25 indeed, on my certain knowledge — she is a wedded wife ” 

Gracious madam,” said Tressilian, “ may I yet request to 
marHage 11 ’ under what circumstances, this alleged 

“ Out, sirrah,” answered the Queen — “ alleged marriage * 
3° Have you not the word of this illustrious earl to warrant 
the truth of what his servant says ? But thou art a loser — 
think st thyself such at least — and thou shalt have in¬ 
dulgence; we will look into the matter ourself more at 
leisure. My Lord of Leicester, I trust you remember we 
35 mean to taste the good cheer of your Castle of Kenilworth 
on this week ensuing; we will pray you to bid our good and 
valued friend the Earl of Sussex to hold company with ds 
tnere. 

P the noble Earl of Sussex,” said Leicester, bowing to his 
4 o rival with the easiest and with the most graceful courtesy 
will so far honour my poor house, I will hold it an ad¬ 
ditional proof of the amicable regard it is your Grace’s 
desire we should entertain towards each other.” 










KENILWORTH 


197 


Sussex was more embarrassed. “I should/’ said he, 

“ madam, be but a clog on your gayer hours, since my late 

severe illness.” * . . . ,, 

“ And have you been indeed so very ill? said Elizabeth, 
looking on him with more attention than before; “ you are 5 
in faith strangely altered, and deeply am I grieved to see it. 
But be of good cheer; we will ourselves look after the 
health of so valued a servant, and to whom we owe so much. 
Masters shall order your diet; and that we ourselves may 
see that he is obeyed, you must attend us in this progress to 10 
Kenilworth.” 

This was said so peremptorily, and at the same time witn 
so much kindness, that Sussex, however unwilling to be¬ 
come the guest of his rival, had no resource but to bow low 
to the Queen in obedience to her commands, and to express 15 
to Leicester, with blunt courtesy, though mingled with 
embarrassment, his acceptance of his invitation. As the 
earls exchanged compliments on the occasion, the Queen 
said to her high treasurer: “ Methinks, my Lord, the counte¬ 
nances of these our two noble peers resemble those of the 20 
two famed classic streams, 0 the one so dark and sad, the 
other so fair and noble. My old Master Ascham would 
have chid me for forgetting the author. It is Caesar, as 1 
think. See what majestic calmness sits on the brow of 
the noble Leicester, while Sussex seems to greet him as it 25 
he did our will indeed, but not willingly.” 

“The doubt of your Majesty’s favour,” answered the lord 
treasurer, “may perchance occasion the difference, which 
does not — as what does? — escape your Grace’s eye. 

« Such doubt were injurious to us, my lord, replied the 30 
Queen “ We hold both to be near and dear to us, and will 
with impartiality employ both in honourable service for the 
weal of our kingdom. But we will break their farther confer¬ 
ence at present. My Lords of Sussex and Leicester, we have 
a word more with you. Tressilian and Varney are near your 35 
nersons- you will see that they attend you at Kenilworth. 
And as we shall then have both Paris and Menelaus within 
our call, so we will have the same fair Helen also whose 
fickleness has caused this broil. Varney, thy wife must be 
at Kenilworth, and forthcoming at my order. My Lord ot 40 
Leicester, we expect you will look to this. . , ,, . 

The earl and his follower bowed low, and raised their 
heads, without daring to look at the Queen or at each other; 



198 


KENILWORTH 


for both felt at the instant as if the nets and toils which their 
own falsehood had woven were in the act of closing around 
them. The Queen, however, observed not their confusion, 
but proceeded to say: “ My Lords of Sussex and Leicester, 
5 we require your presence at the privy council to be pres¬ 
ently held, where matters of importance are to be debated. 
We will then take the water for our divertisement, and you, 
my lords, will attend us. And that reminds us of a cir¬ 
cumstance. Do you, Sir Squire of the Soiled Cassock 
io (distinguishing Raleigh by a smile), fail not to observe that 
you are to attend us on our progress. You shall be supplied 
with suitable means to reform your wardrobe.” 

And so terminated this celebrated audience, in which, as 
throughout her life, Elizabeth united the occasional caprice 
15 of her sex with that sense and sound policy in which neither 
man nor woman ever excelled her. 




CHAPTER XVII 


Well, then — our course is chosen, spread the sail. 

Heave oft the lead and mark the soundings well, 

Look to the helm, good master; many a shoal 
Marks this stern coast, and rocks, where sits the Siren, 

Who, like ambition, lures men to their ruin. 

The Shipwreck. 

During the brief interval that took place betwixt the dis¬ 
missal of the audience and the sitting of the privy council, 
Leicester had time to reflect that he had that morning 
sealed his own fate. “It was impossible for him now,” he 
thought, “after having, in the face of all that was honourable 5; 
in England, pledged his truth (though in an ambiguous 
phrase) for the statement of Varney, to contradict or dis¬ 
avow it without exposing himself not merely to the loss of 
court favour, but to the highest displeasure of the Queen, 
his deceived mistress, and to the scorn and contempt at 10 
once of his rival and of all his compeers.” This certainty 
rushed at once on his mind, together with all the difficulties 
which he would necessarily be exposed to in preserving a 
secret which seemed now equally essential to his safety, 
to his power, and to his honour. He was situated like one 15 
who walks upon ice, ready to give w T ay around him, and 
whose only safety consists in moving onwards by firm and 
unvacillating steps. The Queen’s favour, to preserve which 
he had made such sacrifices, must now be secured by all 
means and at all hazards: it was the only plank which he 20 
could cling to in the tempest. He must settle himself, 
therefore, to the task of not only preserving, but aug¬ 
menting, the Queen’s partiality. He must be the favourite 
of Elizabeth, or a man utterly shipwrecked in fortune and in 
honour. All other considerations must be laid aside for the 25 
moment, and he repelled the intrusive thoughts which forced 
on his mind the image of Amy, by saying to himself, there 
would be time to think hereafter how he was to escape from 
the labyrinth ultimately, since the pilot who sees a Scylla 0 

199 


200 


KENIL WORTH 


under his bows must not for the time think of the more dis¬ 
tant dangers of Charybdis. 

In this mood, the Earl of Leicester that day assumed his 
chair at the council-table of Elizabeth; and when the hours 
5 of business were over, in this same mood did he occupy an 
honoured place near her during her pleasure-excursion on the 
Thames. And never did he display to more advantage his 
powers as a politician of the first rank, or his parts as an 
accomplished courtier. 

io It chanced that in that day’s council matters were agitated 
touching the affairs of the unfortunate Mary,° the seventh 
year of whose captivity in England was now in doleful 
currency. There had been opinions in favour of this un¬ 
happy princess laid before Elizabeth’s council, and sup- 
15 ported with much strength of argument by Sussex and 
others, who dwelt more upon the law of nations and the 
breach of hospitality than, however softened or qualified, 
was agreeable to the Queen’s ear. Leicester adopted the 
contrary opinion with great animation and eloquence, and 
20 described the necessity of continuing the severe restraint of 
the Queen of Scots, as a measure essential to the safety of the 
kingdom, and particularly of Elizabeth’s sacred person, the 
lightest hair of whose head, he maintained, ought, in their 
lordships’ estimation, to be matter of more deep and anxious 
25 concern than the life and fortunes of a rival, who, after 
setting up a vain and unjust pretence to the throne of 
England, was now, even while in the bosom of her country, 
the constant hope and theme of encouragement to all ene¬ 
mies to Elizabeth, whether at home or abroad. He ended 
30 by craving pardon of their lordships if, in the zeal of speech, 
he had given any offence, but the Queen’s safety was a 
theme which hurried him beyond his usual moderation of 
debate. 

Elizabeth chid him. but not severely, for the weight which 
35 he attached unduly to her personal interests; yet she owned 
that, since it had been the pleasure of Heaven to combine 
those interests with the weal of her subjects, she did only her 
duty when she adopted such measures of self-preservation as 
circumstances forced upon her; and if the council in their 
40 wisdom should be of opinion that it was needful to continue 
some restraint on the person of her unhappy sister of Scot¬ 
land, she trusted they would not blame her if she requested of 
the Countess of Shrewsbury to use her with as much kind- 




KENILWORTH 


201 


ness as might be consistent with her safe keeping. And with 
this intimation of her pleasure, the council was dismissed. 

Never was more anxious and ready way made for “my 
Lord of Leicester” than as he passed through the crowded 
anterooms to go towards the river-side, in order to attend her 5 
Majesty to her barge; never was the voice of the ushers 
louder, to “Make room — make room for the noble earl” ; 
never were these signals more promptly and reverently 
obeyed; never were more anxious eyes turned on him to 
obtain a glance of favour, or even of mere recognition, 10 
while the heart of many a humble follower throbbed be¬ 
twixt the desire to offer his congratulations and the fear of 
intruding himself on the notice of one so infinitely above 
him. The whole court considered the issue of this day’s 
audience, expected with so much doubt and anxiety, as a 15 
decisive triumph on the part of Leicester, and felt assured 
that the orb of his rival satellite, if not altogether obscured 
by his lustre, must revolve hereafter in a dimmer and more 
distant sphere. So thought the court and courtiers, from 
high to low, and they acted accordingly. 20 

On the other hand, never did Leicester return the general 
greeting with such ready and condescending courtesy, or en¬ 
deavour more successfully to gather, in the words of one who 
at that moment stood at no great distance from him, golden 
opinions from all sorts of men.” 25 

For all the favourite earl had a bow, a smile at least, and 
often a kind word. Most of these were addressed to court¬ 
iers whose names have long gone down the tide of oblivion; 
but some to such as sound strangely in our ears when con¬ 
nected with the ordinary matters of human life, above which 30 
the gratitude of posterity has long elevated them. A few of 
Leicester’s interlocutory sentences ran as follows: 

“ Povnines, good morrow, and how does your wife and 
fair daughter? Why come they not to court? Adams, 
vour suit is naught: the Queen will grant no more monop- 35 
olies; but T may serve you in another matter. My good 
Alderman Aylford, the suit of the city, affecting Queenhithe, 
shall be forwarded as far as my poor interest can serve 
Master Edmund Spencer , 0 touching your Irish petition, I 
would willingly aid you, from my love to the Muses; but40 
thou hast nettled the lord treasurer. 

“My lord,” said the poet, were I permitted to ex¬ 
plain -” 



202 


KENILWORTH 


“ Come to my lodging, Edmund,” answered the earl — 
“not to-morrow or next day, but soon. Ha, Will Shak- 
speare 0 -— wild Will! thou hast given my nephew, Philip 
Sidney, 0 love-powder: he cannot sleep without thy Venus 
5 and Adonis 0 under his pillow ! We will have thee hanged 
for the veriest wizard in Europe. Hark thee, mad wag, I 
have not forgotten thy matter of the patent and of the bears.” 

The player bowed, and the earl nodded and passed on — 
so that age would have told the tale; in ours, perhaps, we 
io might say the immortal had done homage to the mortal. 
The next whom the favourite accosted was one of his own 
zealous dependants. 

“How now, Sir Francis Denning,” he whispered, in 
answer to his exulting salutation, “that smile hath made 
15 thy face shorter by one-third than when I first saw it this 
morning. What, Master Bowyer, stand you back, and 
think you I bear malice? You did but your duty this 
morning; and if I remember aught of the passage betwixt 
us, it shall be in thy favour.” 

20 Then the earl was approached, with several fantastic con¬ 
gees, by a person quaintly dressed in a doublet of black 
velvet, curiously slashed and pinked with crimson satin. 
A long cock’s feather in the velvet bonnet which he held in 
his hand, and an enormous ruff, stiffened to the extremity 
25 of the absurd taste of the times, joined with a sharp, lively, 
conceited expression of countenance, seemed to body forth 
a vain, hare-brained coxcomb and small wit; while the rod 
he held, and an assumption of formal authority, appeared to 
express some sense of official consequence, which qualified 
30 the natural pertness of his manner. A perpetual blush, 
which occupied rather the sharp nose than the thin cheek of 
this personage, seemed to speak more of “good life,” as it 
was called, than of modesty; and the manner in which he 
approached to the earl confirmed that suspicion. 

35 “ Good even to you, Master Robert Laneham,” said Leices¬ 

ter, and seemed desirous to pass forward without farther 
speech. 

“I have a suit to your noble lordship,” said the figure, 
boldly following him. 

4 o “ And what is it, good master keeper of the council-cham¬ 
ber door?” 

“ Clerk of the council-chamber door,” said Master Robert 
Laneham, with emphasis, by way of reply and of correction. 


< 


* 




KENILWORTH 


203 


“ Well, qualify thine office as thou wilt, man,” replied the 
' earl; “ what wouldst thou have with me?” 

“ Simply,” answered Laneham, “ that your lordship would 
| be, as heretofore, my good lord, and procure me license to at- 
| tend the summer progress unto your lordship’s most beautiful 5 
and all-to-be unmatched Castle of Kenilworth” 

I “To what purpose, good Master Laneham?” replied the 
earl; “bethink you, my guests must needs be many.” 

“Not so many,” replied the. petitioner, “but that your 
nobleness will willingly spare your old servitor his crib and 10 
his mess. Bethink you, my lord, how necessary is this rod of 
] mine to fright away all those listeners who else would play 
at bo-peep with the honourable council, and be searching for 
keyholes and crannies in the door of the chamber, so as to 
render my staff as needful as a fly-flap in a butcher’s shop. 15 
1 “ Methinks you have found out a fly-blown comparison for 

the honourable council, Master Laneham,” said the earl; 

“ but seek not about to justify it. Come to Kenilworth, if 
you list; there will be store of fools there besides, and so you 
will be fitted.” . 20 

« Nay, an there be fools, my lord,” replied Laneham, with 
[ much glee, “ I warrant I will make sport among them; for no 
greyhound loves to cote a hare as I to turn and course a 
' fool. But I have another singular favour to beseech of your 

“Speak it, and let me go,” said the earl; “I think the 
Queen comes forth instantly.” 

r “ My very good lord, I would fain bring a bed-fellow with 


“How, you irreverent rascal!” said Leicester. 30 

“Nay, my lord, my meaning is within the canons,” an- 
. swered his unblushing, or rather his ever-blushing, peti- 
{ ► tioner. “ I have a wife as curious as her grandmother, who 
eat the apple. Now, take her with me I may not, her 
Highness’s orders being so strict against the officers bringing 35 
with them their wives in a progress, and so lumbering the 
> court with womankind. But what I would crave of your 
lordship is, to find room for her in some mummery or pretty 
pageant, in disguise, as it were, so that, not being known for 
my wife, there may be no offence.” . 40 

“The foul fiend seize ye both !” said Leicester, stung into 
uncontrollable passion by the recollections which this 
speech excited. “Why stop you me with such follies? 







204 


KENILWORTH 


The terrified clerk of the chamber door, astonished at the 
burst of resentment he had so unconsciously produced, 
dropped his staff of office from his hand, and gazed on the 
incensed earl with a foolish face of wonder and terror, which 
5 instantly recalled Leicester to himself. 

“ I meant but to try if thou hadst the audacity which befits 
thine office,” said he, hastily. “Come to Kenilworth, and 
bring the devil with thee if thou wilt.” 

“ My wife, sir, hath played the devil ere now, in a mystery, ( 
io in Queen Mary’s time; but we shall want a trifle for proper¬ 
ties.” 

“ Here is a crown for thee,” said the earl; “ make me rid of 
thee — the great bell rings.” 

Master Robert Laneham stared a moment at the agitation 
15 which he had excited, and then said to himself, as he stopped 
to pick up his staff of office: “The noble earl runs wild hu¬ 
mours to-day; but they who give crowns expect us witty 
fellows to wink at their unsettled starts; and, by my faith, 
if they paid not for mercy, we would finger them tightly ! ’ j 
20 Leicester moved hastily on, neglecting the courtesies he 
had hitherto dispensed so liberally, and hurrying through the 
courtly crowd, until he paused in a small withdrawing-room, 
into which he plunged to draw a moment’s breath unob¬ 
served and in seclusion. 

25 “ What am I now,” he said to himself, “ that am thus jaded 

by the words of a mean, weather-beaten, goose-brained gull! 
Conscience, thou art a bloodhound, whose growl wakes as 
readily at the paltry stir of a rat or mouse as at the step of a 
lion. Can I not quit myself, by one bold stroke, of a state so 
30irksome, so unhonoured? What if I kneel to Elizabeth, 
and, owning the whole, throw myself on her mercy?” 

As he pursued this train of thought, the door of the apart¬ 
ment opened, and Varney rushed in. 

“Thank God, my lord, that I have found you!” was his 
35 exclamation. 

“ Thank the devil, whose agent thou art,” was the earl’s j 
reply. 

“Thank whom you will, my lord,” said Varney; “but 
hasten to the water-side. The Queen is on board, and asks 1 
40 for you.” 

“ Go, say I am taken suddenly ill,” replied Leicester; “for, 
by Heaven, my brain can sustain this no longer !” 

“ I may well say so,” said Varney, with bitterness of ex- 






KENILWORTH 


205 


pression, “for your place, ay, and mine, who, as your master 
of the horse, was to have attended your lordship, is already 
filled up in the Queen’s barge. The new minion, Walter 
Raleigh, and our old acquaintance, Tressilian, were called for 
to fill our places just as I hastened away to seek you.” 5 

“Thou art a devil, Varney,” said Leicester, hastily; “but 
thou hast the mastery for the present: I follow'thee.” 

Varney replied not, but led the way out of the palace, and 
towards the river, while his master followed him as if me¬ 
chanically; until, looking back, he said in a tone which io 
savoured of familiarity at least, if not of authority: “ How is . 
this, my lord ? your cloak hangs on one side, your hose are 
unbraced; permit me-” . 

“ Thou art a fool, Varney, as well as a knave, said Leices¬ 
ter, shaking him off, and rejecting his officious assistance; 15 
“we are best thus, sir: when we require you to order our 
person, it is well, but now we want you not.” 

So saying, the earl resumed at once his air of command, 
and with it his self-possession, shook his dress into yet wilder 
disorder, passed before Varney with the air of a superior and 20 
master, and in his turn led the way to the river-side. 

The Queen’s barge was on the very point of putting off; 
the seat allotted to Leicester in the stern, and that to his 
master of the horse on the bow, of the boat being already 
filled up. But on Leicester’s approach there was a pause, as 25 
if the bargemen anticipated some alteration in their com¬ 
pany. The angry spot was, however, on the Queen’s cheek, 
as in that cold tone with which superiors endeavour to veil 
their internal agitation, while speaking to those before whom 
it would be derogation to express it, she pronounced the 30 
chilling words: “We have waited, my Lord of Leicester. 

« Madam and most gracious princess,” said Leicester, “you 
who can pardon so many weaknesses which your own heart 
never knows, can best bestow your commiseration on the agi¬ 
tations of the bosom, which, for a moment, affect both head 35 
and limbs. I came to your presence a doubting and an 
accused subject; your goodness penetrated the clouds of 
defamation, and restored me to my honour, and, what is yet 
dearer, to your favour — is it wonderful, though for me it is 
• most unhappy, that my master of the horse should have 40 
found me in a state which scarce permitted me to make the 
exertion necessary to follow him to this place, when one glance 
of your Highness, although, alas! an angry one, has had 





206 


KENILWORTH 


power to do that for me in which Esculapius ° might have 
failed ? ” 

“ How is this ? ” said Elizabeth, hastily, looking at Varney; 
“hath your lord been ill?” 

5 “ Something of a fainting fit,” answered the ready-witted 

Varney, “ as your Grace may observe from his present condi¬ 
tion. My lord's haste would not permit me leisure even to 
bring his dress into order.” 

“ tt matters not,” said Elizabeth, as she gazed on the 
io noble face and form of Leicester, to which even the strange 
mixture of passions by which he had been so lately agitated 
gave additional interest; “make room for my noble lord. 
Your place, Master Varney, has been filled up; you must 
find a seat in another barge.” 
is Varney bowed and withdrew. 

“ And you, too, our young Squire of the Cloak,” added she, 
looking at Raleigh, “must, for the time, go to the barge of 
our ladies of honour. As for Tressilian, he hath already 
suffered too much by the caprice of women that I should 
20 aggrieve him by my change of plan, so far as he is con¬ 
cerned. 

Leicester seated himself in his place in the barge, and close 
to the sovereign; Raleigh rose to retire, and Tressilian would 
have been so ill-timed in his courtesy as to offer to relin- 
25 quish his own place to his friend, had not the acute glance of 
Raleigh himself, who seemed now in his native element, 
made him sensible that so ready a disclamation of the royal 
favour might be misinterpreted. He sate silent, therefore, 
whilst Raleigh, with a profound bow and a look of the deep- 
30 est humiliation, was about to quit his place. 

A noble courtier, the gallant Lord Willoughby, read, as he 
thought something in the Queen's face which seemed to pity 
Raleigh s real or assumed semblance of mortification. 

“It is not for us old courtiers,” he said, “to hide the sun- 
35 shine from the young ones. I will, with her Majesty’s leave 
rehnquish for an hour that which her subjects hold dearest, 
the delight of her Highness's presence, and mortify myself 
by walking in starlight, while I forsake for a brief season the 
glory of Diana's own beams. I will take place in the boat 
*0 which the ladies occupy, and permit this young cavalier his 
hour of promised felicity.” 

The Queen replied, with an expression betwixt mirth and 
earnest: ‘ If you are so willing to leave us, my lord, we can- 




KENILWORTH 


207 


not help the mortification. But, under favour, we do not 
trust you — old and experienced as you may deem yourself 
— with the care of our young ladies of honour. Your ven¬ 
erable age, my lord,” she continued, smiling, “may be better 
assorted with that of my lord treasurer, who follows in the 5 
third boat, and whose experience even my Lord Willoughby’s 
may be improved by.” 

Lord Willoughby hid his disappointment under a smile, 
laughed, was confused, bowed, and left the Queen’s barge to 
go on board my Lord Burleigh’s. Leicester, who endeav- 10 
oured to divert his thoughts from all internal reflection by 
fixing them on what was passing around, watched this cir¬ 
cumstance among others. But when the boat put off from 
the shore, when the music sounded from a barge which ac¬ 
companied them, when the shouts of the populace were heard 15 
from the shore, and all reminded him of the situation in 
which he was placed, he abstracted his thoughts and feelings 
by a strong effort from everything but the necessity of 
maintaining himself in the favour of his patroness, and 
exerted his talents of pleasing captivation with such success 20 
that the Queen, alternately delighted with his conversation 
and alarmed for his health, at length imposed a temporary 
silence on him, with playful yet anxious care, lest his flow of 
spirits should exhaust him. . 

“My lords,” she said, “having passed for a time our edict 25 
of silence upon our good Leicester, we will call you to counsel 
on a gamesome matter, more fitted to be now treated of 
amidst mirth and music, than in the gravity of our ordinary 
deliberations. Which of you, my lords,” said she, smiling, 
“know aught of a petition from Orson Pmmt, the keeper, as 30 
he qualifies himself, of our royal bears? Who stands god¬ 
father to his request ? ” . . , , T » 

“Marry, with your Grace s good permission, that do 1, 
said the Earl of Sussex. “ Orson Pinnit was a stout soldier 
before he was so mangled by the skenes 0 of the Irish clan 35 
MacDonough, and I trust your Grace will be, as you always 
have been, good mistress to your good and trusty servants. 

“ Surely,” said the Queen, “it is our purpose to be so, and 
in especial to our poor soldiers and sailors, who hazard their 
lives for little pay. We would give,” she said, with her eyes 40 
sparkling, “yonder royal palace of ours to be an hospital tor 
their use, rather than they should call their mistress ungrate¬ 
ful. But this is not the question,” she said, her voice, which 





208 


KENILWORTH 


had been awakened by her patriotic feelings, once more sub¬ 
siding into the tone of gay and easy conversation; “for this 
Orson Pinnit's request goes something farther. He com¬ 
plains that, amidst the extreme delight with which men 
5 haunt the play-houses, and in especial their eager desire for 
seeing the exhibitions of one Will Shakspeare— whom, I 
think, my lords, we have all heard something of' - the 
manly amusement of bear-baiting is falling into comparative 
neglect; since men will rather throng to see these roguish 
io players kill each other in jest than to see our royal dogs and 
bears worry each other in bloody earnest. What say you to 
this, my Lord of Sussex?” 

“Why, truly, gracious madam,” said Sussex, “you must 
expect little from an old soldier like me in favour of battles 
15 in sport, when they are compared with battles in earnest; 
and yet, by my faith, I wish Will Shakspeare no harm. He 
is a stout man at quarter-staff 0 and single falchion, though, 
as I am told, a halting fellow; and he stood, they say, a 
tough fight with the rangers of old Sir Thomas Lucy° of 
2oCharlecot, when he broke his deer-park and kissed his 
keeper's daughter." 

“ I cry you mercy, my Lord of Sussex," said Queen Eliza¬ 
beth, interrupting him; “ that matter was heard in council, 
and we will not have this fellow's offence exaggerated: there 
25 was no kissing in the matter, and the defendant hath put the 
denial on record. But what say you to his present practice, 
my lord, on the stage ? for there lies the point, and not in any 
ways touching his former errors, in breaking parks or the 
other follies you speak of." 

30 “ Why, truly, madam," replied Sussex, “as I said before, I 

wish the gamesome, mad fellow no injury. Some of his 
whoreson poetry— I crave your Grace’s pardon for such a 
phrase — has rung in mine ears as if the lines sounded to boot 
and saddle. But then it is all froth and folly — no sub- 
35 stance or seriousness in it, as your Grace has already well 
touched. What are half a dozen knaves, with rusty foils and 
tattered targets, making but a mere mockery of a stout fight, 
to compare to the royal game of bear-baiting, which hath 
been graced by your Highness’s countenance, and that of 
40 your royal predecessors, in this your princely kingdom, 
famous for matchless mastiffs and bold bear-wards over all 
Christendom? Greatly is it to be doubted that the race of 
both will decay, if men should throng to hear the lungs of an 




KENILWORTH 


209 


idle player belch forth nonsensical bombast, instead of be¬ 
stowing their pence in encouraging the bravest image of war 
that can be shown in peace, and that is the sports of the bear¬ 
garden. There you may see the bear lying at guard with 
his red pinky eyes, watching the onset of the mastiff, likes 
a wily captain, who maintains his defence that an assailant 
may be tempted to venture within his danger. And then 
comes sir mastiff, like a worthy champion, in full career at 
the throat of his adversary; and then shall sir brum teach 
him the reward for those who, in their over-courage, neglect 10 
the policies of war, and, catching him in his arms, strain 
him to his breast like a lusty wrestler, until rib after rib 
crack like the shot of a pistolet. And then another mastiff, 
as bold, but with better aim and sounder judgment, 
catches sir bruin by the nether lip, and hangs fast, while he 15 
tosses about his blood and slaver, and tries m vain to shake 
Sir Talbot from his hold. And then —— . 

“ Nay by my honour, my lord,” said the Queen, laughing, 
“you have described the whole so admirably that, had we 
never seen a bear-baiting, as we have beheld many, and hope, 20 
with Heaven’s allowance, to see many more, your words were 
sufficient to put the whole bear-garden before our eyes. 
But come, who speaks next in this case. My Lord o 
Leicester, what say you?” 

“Am I then to consider myself as unmuzzled, please your 25 
Grace?” replied Leicester. 

“ Surely, my lord — that is, if you feel hearty enough to 
take part in our game,” answered Elizabeth; and yet, 
when I think of your cognizance of the bear and ragged staff, 
methinks we had better, hear some less partial orator. 30 

“Nav on my word, gracious princess, said the earl, 

“ though my brother Ambrose of Warwick and I do carry the 
ancient cognizance your Highness deigns to remembCT I 
nevertheless desire nothing but fair play on all sides or as 
they say, ‘ Fight dog, fight bear. And m behalf of the 35 
players, 7 I must needs say that they are witty knaves whose 
rants and jests keep the minds of the commons from busying 
themselves with state affairs, and listening o ra 1 orous 
speeches, idle rumours, and disloyal insinuations. When 
men are agape to see how Marlow, Shakspeare, and other 4 o 
play artificers work out their fanciful plots, as they call them, 
the mind of the spectators is withdrawn from the conduct of 
their rulers.” 


p 







210 


KENILWORTH 


“We would not have the mind of our subjects withdrawn 
from the consideration of our own conduct, my lord,” an¬ 
swered Elizabeth; “ because, the more closely it is examined, 
the true motives by which we are guided will appear the more 
5 manifest.” 

“I have heard, however, madam,” said the Dean of St. 
Asaph’s, an eminent Puritan, “that these players are wont, 
in their plays, not only to introduce profane and lewd expres¬ 
sions, tending to foster sin and harlotry, but even to bellow 
io out such reflections on government, its origin and its object, 
as tend to render the subject discontented, and shake the 
solid foundations of civil society. And it seems to be, under 
your Grace’s favour, far less than safe to permit these 
naughty, foul-mouthed knaves to ridicule the godly for their 
15 decent gravity, and in blaspheming Heaven, and slandering 
its earthly rulers, to set at defiance the laws both of God and 
man.” 

“If we could think this were true, my lord,” said Eliza¬ 
beth, “we should give sharp correction for such offences. 
20 But it is ill arguing against the use of anything from its abuse. 
And touching this Shakspeare, we think there is that in his 
plays that is worth twenty bear-gardens; and that this new 
undertaking of his Chronicles, as he calls them, may enter¬ 
tain, with honest mirth, mingled with useful instruction, not 
25 only our subjects, but even the generation which may suc¬ 
ceed to us.” 

“Your Majesty’s reign will need no such feeble aid to 
make it remembered to the latest posterity,” said Leicester. 
“And yet, in his way, Shakspeare hath so touched some 
30 incidents of your Majesty’s happy government as may coun¬ 
tervail what has been spoken by his reverence the Dean of 
St. Asaph’s. There are some lines, for example — I would 
my nephew, Philip Sidney, were here, they are scarce ever 
out of his mouth — they are spoken in a mad tale of fairies, 
35 love-charms, and I wot not what besides; but beautiful 
they are, however short they may and must fall of the sub¬ 
ject to which they bear a bold relation, and Philip murmurs 
them, I think, even in his dreams.” 

“You tantalise us, my lord,” said the Queen. “Master 
40 Philip Sidney is, we know, a minion of the Muses, and we are 
pleased it should be so. Valour never shines to more advan¬ 
tage than when united with the true taste and love of letters. 
But surely there are some others among our young courtiers 







KENILWORTH 


211 


who can recollect what your lordship has forgotten amid 
weightier affairs. Master Tressilian, you are described to me 
as a worshipper of Minerva — remember you aught of these 
lines? ” 

Tressilian’s heart was too heavy, his prospects in life too 5 
fatally blighted, to profit by the opportunity which the 
Queen thus offered to him of attracting her attention, but he 
determined to transfer the advantage to his more ambitious 
young friend; and, excusing himself on the score of want of 
recollection, he added, that he believed the beautiful verses 10 
of which my Lord of Leicester had spoken were in the remem¬ 
brance of Master Walter Raleigh. 

At the command of the Queen, that cavalier repeated, with 
accent and manner which even added to their exquisite deli¬ 
cacy of tact and beauty of description, the celebrated vision 15 
of Oberon: 

“That very time I saw (but thou couldst not), 

Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 

Cupid, all arm’d; a certain aim he took 

At a fair vestal, throned by the west; 20 

And loos’d his love-shaft smartly from his bow, 

As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts. 

But I might see young Cupid’s fiery shaft 
Quench’d in the chaste beams of the watery moon; 

And the imperial vot’ress passed on, 25 

In maiden meditation, fancy free. 0 ” 

The voice of Raleigh, as he repeated the last lines, became a 
little tremulous, as if diffident how the sovereign to whom the 
homage was addressed might receive it, exquisite as it was. 

If this diffidence was affected, it was good policy; but if real, 3° 
there was little occasion for it. The verses were not probably 
new to the Queen, for when was ever such elegant flattery 
long in reaching the royal ear to which it was addressed. 
But they were not the less welcome when repeated by such a 
speaker as Raleigh. Alike delighted with the matter, the 35 
manner, and the graceful form and animated countenance 
of the gallant young reciter, Elizabeth kept time to every 
cadence with look and with finger. When the speaker had 
ceased, she murmured over the last lines as if scarce con¬ 
scious that she was overheard, and as she uttered the words, 4 ° 

“ In maiden meditation, fancy free,” 





212 


KENILWORTH 


she dropt into the Thames the supplication of Orson Pinnit, 
keeper of the royal bears, to find more favourable accept¬ 
ance at Sheerness, or wherever the tide might waft it. 

Leicester was spurred to emulation by the success of the 
5 young courtier’s exhibition, as the veteran racer is roused 
when a high-mettled colt passes him on the way. He 
turned the discourse on shows, banquets, pageants, and on 
the character of those by whom these gay scenes were then 
frequented. He mixed acute observation with light satire, in 
io that just proportion which was free alike from malignant 
slander and insipid praise. He mimicked with ready accent 
the manners of the affected or the clownish, and made his 
own graceful tone and manner seem doubly such when he 
resumed it. Foreign countries — their customs, their man- 
15 ners, the rules of their courts, the fashions, and even the 
dress, of their ladies, were equally his theme; and seldom 
did he conclude without conveying some compliment, always 
couched in delicacy and expressed with propriety, to the 
Virgin Queen, her court, and her government. Thus passed 
20 the conversation during this pleasure voyage, seconded by 
the rest of the attendants upon the royal person, in gay 
discourse, varied by remarks upon ancient classics and mod¬ 
ern authors, and enriched by maxims of deep policy and 
sound morality by the statesmen and sages who sate around 
25 and mixed wisdom with the lighter talk of a female court 
When they returned to the palace, Elizabeth accepted, or 
rather selected, the arm of Leicester to support her from the 
stairs where they landed to the great gate. It even seemed 
to him (though that might arise from the flattery of his 
30 own imagination) that, during this short passage, she leaned 
on him somewhat more than the slippiness of the way neces¬ 
sarily demanded. Certainly her actions and words com¬ 
bined to express a degree of favour which, even in his proud¬ 
est days, he had not till then attained. His rival indeed 
35 was repeatedly graced by the Queen’s notice; but it was 
m a manner that seemed to flow less from spontaneous in¬ 
clination than as extorted by a sense of his merit. And, in 
the opinion of many experienced courtiers, all the favour she 
showed him was overbalanced by her whispering in the ear 
4° of the Lady Derby, that “ Now she saw sickness was a better 
alchemist than she before wotted of, seeing it had changed 
m y Lord of Sussex s copper nose into a golden one.” 

The jest transpired, and the Earl of Leicester enjoyed his 






KENILWORTH 


213 


triumph, as one to whom court favour had been both the 
primary and the ultimate motive of life, while he forgot in 
the intoxication of the moment the perplexities and dangers 
of his own situation. Indeed, strange as it may appear, he 
thought less at that moment of the perils arising from his 5 
secret union than of the marks of grace which Elizabeth from 
time to time showed to young Raleigh. They were indeed 
transient, but they were conferred on one accomplished m 
mind and body with grace, gallantry, literature, and valour. 

An accident occurred in the course of the evening which 10 
riveted Leicester’s attention to this object. 

The nobles and courtiers who had attended the Queen on 
her pleasure expedition were invited, with royal hospitality, 
to a splendid banquet in the hall of the palace. The table 
was not, indeed, graced by the presence of the sovereign; 15 
for, agreeable to her idea of what was at once modest and 
dignified, the Maiden Queen on such occasions was wont to 
take in private, or with one or two favourite ladies, her light 
and temperate meal. After a moderate interval, the court 
again met in the splendid gardens of the palace; and it was 20 
while thus engaged that the Queen suddenly asked a lady, 
who was near to her both in place and favour, what had 
become of the young Squire Lack-Cloak. 

The Lady Paget answered, “ She had seen Master Raleigh 
but two or three minutes since, standing at the window of a 25 
small pavilion or pleasure-house which looked out on the 
Thames, and writing on the glass with a diamond ring 

“That ring,” said the Queen, “was a small token I gave 
him, to make amends for his spoiled mantle. Come, Paget, 
let us see what use he has made of it, for I can see through 30 
him already. He is a marvellously sharp-witted spirit. 

Thev went to the spot, within sight of which, but at some 
distance,* the young cavalier still lingered, as the fowler 
watches the net which he has set. The Queen approached 
the window, on which Raleigh had used her gift to inscribe 35 
the following line: 

“Fain would I climb, but that I fear to fall.” 


The Queen smiled, read it twice over, once with delibera¬ 
tion to Lady Paget, and once again to herself. It is a 
nrettv beginning,” she said, after the consideration of a40 
moment o g r twof “but methinks the muse hath deserted 




214 


KENILWORTH 


the young wit at the very outset of his task. It were good- 
natured, were it not, Lady Paget, to complete it for him? 
Try your rhyming faculties.” 

Lady Paget, prosaic from her cradle upwards, as ever any 
5 lady of the bedchamber before or after her, disclaimed all 
possibility of assisting the young poet. 

“Nay, then, we must sacrifice to the Muses ourselves” 
said Elizabeth. 

The incense of no one can be more acceptable,” said Lady 
io Paget; “and your Highness will impose such obligation on 

the ladies of Parnassus 0 -” 

Hush, Paget,” said the Queen, “you speak sacrilege 
against the immortal Inline; yet, virgins themselves, they 
should be exorable to a virgin queen; and, therefore, let me 
15 see how runs his verse — 


Fain would I climb, but that I fear to fall. 

Might not the answer, for fault of a better, run thus — 

If thy mind fail thee, do not climb at all?” 

The dame of honour uttered an exclamation of joy and sur- 
20 pnse at so happy a termination; and certainly a worse has 
^jJ^PP lauded > even when coming from a less distinguished 

The Queen, thus encouraged, took off a diamond ring, and 
saymg We will give this gallant some cause of marvel, 
25 when he finds his couplet perfected without his own inter- 
ference, she wrote her own line beneath that of Raleigh 

1 he Queen left the pavilion; but, retiring slowly and often 
looking back, she could see the young cavalier steal, with the 
flight of a lapwing, towards the place where he had seen her 
30 make a pause. “She staid but to observe,” as she said, 
that her train had taken;” and then, laughing at the cir¬ 
cumstance with the Lady Paget, she took the way slowlv 
towards the palace. Elizabeth, as they returned, cautioned 
her companion not to mention to any one the aid which she 
35 had given to the young poet, and Lady Paget promised 
scrupulous secrecy. It is to be supposed that she made a 
mental reservation in favour of Leicester, to whom her ladv- 
ship transmitted without delay an anecdote so little calcu¬ 
lated to give him pleasure. 





KENILWORTH 


215 


Raleigh, in the mean while, stole back to the window, and 
read, with a feeling of intoxication, the encouragement thus 
given him by the Queen in person to follow out his ambitious 
career, and returned to Sussex and his retinue, then on the 
point of embarking to go up the river, his heart beating high 5 
with gratified pride and with hope of future distinction. 

The reverence due to the person of the earl prevented any 
notice being taken of the reception he had met with at court, 
until they had landed, and the household were assembled in 
the great hall at Say’s Court; while that lord, exhausted by 10 
his late illness and the fatigues of the day, had retired to 
his chamber, demanding the attendance of Wayland, his 
successful physician. Wayland, however, was nowhere to 
be found; and, while some of the party were, with military 
impatience, seeking him, and cursing his absence, the rest 15 
flocked around Raleigh to congratulate him on his prospects 
of court favour. 

He had the good taste and judgment to conceal the 
decisive circumstance of the couplet, to which Elizabeth had 
deigned to find a rhyme; but other indications had tran- 20 
spired which plainly intimated that he had made some prog¬ 
ress in the Queen’s favour. All hastened to wish him joy 
on the mended appearance of his fortune — some from real 
regard; some, perhaps, from hopes that his preferment 
might hasten their own; and most from a mixture of these 25 
motives, and a sense that the countenance shown to any one 
of Sussex’s household was, in fact, a triumph to the whole. 
Raleigh returned the kindest thanks to them all, disowning, 
with becoming modesty, that one day’s fair reception made 
a favourite, any more than one swallow a summer. But he 30 
observed that Blount did not join in the general congratula¬ 
tion, and, somewhat hurt at his apparent unkindness, he 
plainly asked him the reason. 

Blount replied with equal sincerity: “My good Walter, I 
wish thee as well as do any of these chattering gulls, who are 35 
whistling and whooping gratulations in thine ear, because it 
seems fair weather with thee. But I fear for thee, Walter 
(and he wiped his honest eye) — I fear for thee with all my 
heart. These court tricks, and gambols, and flashes of fine 
women’s favour, are the tricks and trinkets that bring fair 40 
fortunes to farthings, and fine faces and witty coxcombs to 
the acquaintance of dull block and sharp axes.” 

So saying, Blount arose and left the hall, while Raleigh 


216 


KENILWORTH 


looked after him with an expression that blanked for a mo¬ 
ment his bold and animated countenance. 

Stanley just then entered the hall, and said to Tressilian: 
“ My lord is calling for your fellow Wayland, and your fellow 
5 Wayland is just come hither in a sculler, and is calling for 
you, nor will he go to my lord till he sees you. The fellow 
looks as he were mazed, methinks. I would you would see 
him immediately.’ ’ 

Tressilian instantly left the hall, and causing Wayland 

10 Smith to be shown into a withdrawing-apartment, and lights 
placed, he conducted the artist thither, and was surprised 
when he observed the emotion of his countenance. 

“ What is the matter ,with you, Smith ? ” said Tressilian; 
“have you seen the devil?” 

15 “Worse, sir — worse,” replied Wayland, “I have seen a 
basilisk. Thank God, I saw him first, for, being so seen, and 
seeing not me, he will do the less harm.” 

“In God’s name, speak sense,” said Tressilian, “and say 
what you mean ! ” 

20 “I have seen my old master,” said the artist. “Last 
night, a friend whom I had acquired took me to see the 
palace clock, judging me to be curious in such works of art. 
At the window of a turret next to the clock-house I saw my 
old master.” 

25 “Thou must needs have been mistaken,” said Tressilian. 

“I was not mistaken,” said Wayland. “He that once 
hath his features by heart would know him amongst a million. 
He was anticly habited; but he cannot disguise himself from 
me, God be praised ! as I can from him. I will not, however, 

3 ° tempt Providence by remaining within his ken. Tarleton 
the player himself could not so disguise himself but that, 
sooner or later, Doboobie would find him out. I must away 
to-morrow; for, as we stand together, it were death to me 
to remain within reach of him.” 

35 “But the Earl of Sussex?” said Tressilian. 

“ He is in little danger from what he has hitherto taken, 
provided he swallow the matter of a bean’s size of the orvietan 
every morning fasting; but let him beware of a relapse.” 

“ And how is that to be guarded against? ” said Tressilian. 

40 “Only by such caution as you would use against the 
devil,” answered Wayland. “Let my lord’s clerk of the 
kitchen kill his lord’s meat himself, and dress it himself, 
using no spice but what he procures from the surest hands. 







KENILWORTH 


217 


Let the sewer serve it up himself, and let the master of my 
lord’s household see that both clerk and sewer taste the 
dishes which the one dresses and the other serves. Let my 
lord use no perfumes which come not from well-accredited 
persons — no unguents — no pomades. Let him, on no 5 
account, drink with strangers, or eat fruit with them, either 
in the way of nooning or otherwise. Especially, let him ob¬ 
serve such caution if he goes to Kenilworth: the excuse of 
his illness, and his being under diet, will, and must, cover the 
strangeness of such practice.” 10 

“And thou,” said Tressilian, “what dost thou think to 
make of thyself?” 

“France, Spain, either India, East or West, shall be my 
refuge,” said Wayland, “ere I venture my life byresiding 
within ken of Doboobie, Demetrius, or whatever else he calls 15 
himself for the time.” 

“Well,” said Tressilian, “this happens not inopportunely. 

I had business for you in Berkshire, but in the opposite ex¬ 
tremity to the place where thou art known; and ere thou 
hadst found out this new reason for living private, I had 20 
settled to send thee thither upon a secret embassage.” 

The artist expressed himself willing to receive his com¬ 
mands, and Tressilian, knowing he was well acquainted with 
the outline of his business at court, frankly explained to him 
the whole, mentioned the agreement which subsisted betwixt 25 
Giles Gosling and him, and told what had that day been 
averred in the presence-chamber by Varney, and supported 
by Leicester. 

"“Thou seest,” he added, “that, in the circumstances m 
which I am placed, it behoves me to keep a narrow watch on 30 
the motions of these unprincipled men, Varney and his com¬ 
plices, Foster and Lambourne, as well as on those of my Lord 
Leicester himself, who, I suspect, is partly a deceiver, and 
not altogether the deceived in that matter. Here is my ring, 
as a pledge to Giles Gosling; here is, besides, gold, which 35 
shall be trebled if thou serve me faithfully. Away down to 
Cumnor, and see what happens there.” 

“ I go with double good-will,” said the artist, first, be¬ 
cause I serve your honour, who has been so kind to me, and 
then, that I may escape my old master, who, if not an ab-40 
solute incarnation of the devil, has, at least, as much of the 
demon about him, in will, word, and action, as ever pol¬ 
luted humanity. And yet let him take care of me. I fly 


218 


KENILWORTH 


him now, as heretofore; but if, like the Scottish wild 
cattle, 0 I am vexed by frequent pursuit, I may turn on him 
in hate and desperation. Will your honour command my 
nag to be saddled ? I will but give the medicine to my lord, 
5 divided in its proper proportions, with a few instructions. 
His safety will then depend on the care of his friends and 
domestics: for the past he is guarded, but let him beware of 
the future.” 

Wayland Smith accordingly made his farewell visit to the 
io Earl of Sussex, dictated instructions as to his regimen and 
precautions concerning his diet, and left Say’s Court with¬ 
out waiting for morning. 





CHAPTER XVIII 


The moment comes — 

It is already come — when thou must write 
The absolute total of thy life’s vast sum. 

The constellations stand victorious o’er thee, 

The planets shoot good fortune in fair junctions, 

And tell thee, “Now’s the time.” 

Schiller’s Wallenstein, by Coleridge. 

When Leicester returned to his lodging, after a day so im¬ 
portant and so harassing, in which, after riding out more 
than one gale, and touching on more than one shoal, his 
bark had finally gained the harbour with banner displayed, 
he seemed to experience as much fatigue as a mariner after 5 
a perilous storm. He spoke not a word while his chamberlain 
exchanged his rich court-mantle for a furred night-robe, and 
when this officer signified that Master Varney desired to 
speak with his lordship, he replied only by a sullen nod. 
Varney, however, entered, accepting this signal as a per- 10 
mission, and the chamberlain withdrew. The earl re¬ 
mained silent and almost motionless in his chair, his head 
reclined on his hand, and his elbow resting on the table which 
stood beside him, without seeming to be conscious of the 
entrance or of the presence of his confidant. Varney waited 15 
for some minutes until he should speak, desirous to know what 
was the finally predominant mood of a mind through which 
so many powerful emotions had that day taken their course. 
But he waited on in vain, for Leicester continued still silent, 
and the confidant saw himself under the necessity of being 20 
the first to speak. “May I congratulate your lordship/’ 
he said, “on the deserved superiority you have this day 
attained over your most formidable rival?” 

Leicester raised his head, and answered sadly, but without 
anger, “ Thou, Varney, whose ready invention has involved 25 
me in a web of most mean and perilous falsehood, knowest 
best what small reason there is for gratulation on the sub¬ 
ject.” 


219 


220 


KENILWORTH 


“Do you blame me, my lord,” said Varney, “for not be¬ 
traying, on the first push, the secret on which your fortunes 
depended, and which you have so oft and so earnestly recom¬ 
mended to my safe keeping? Your lordship was present in 
5 person, and might have contradicted me and ruined your¬ 
self by an avowal of the truth; but surely it was no part of a. 
faithful servant to have done so without your commands.” 

“ I cannot deny it, Varney,” said the earl, rising and walk¬ 
ing across the room; “my own ambition has been traitor to 
io my love.” 

“ Say, rather, my lord, that your love has been traitor to 
your greatness, and barred you from such a prospect of 
honour and power as the world cannot offer to any other. 
To make my honoured lady a countess, you have missed the 
15 chance of being yourself-” 

He paused, and seemed unwilling to complete the sentence. 

“Of being myself what?” demanded Leicester; “speak 
out thy meaning, Varney.” 

“Of being yourself a KING, my lord,” replied Varney; 
20 “ and King of England to boot! It is no treason to our 
Queen to say so. It would have chanced by her obtaining 
that which all true subjects wish her — a lusty, noble, and 
gallant husband.” 

“Thou ravest, Varney,” answered Leicester. “Besides, 
25 our times have seen enough to make men loathe the crown 
matrimonial which men take from their wives’ lap. There 
was Darnley of Scotland. 0 ” 

“He !” said Varney — “a gull, a fool, a thrice-sodden ass, 
who suffered himself to be fired off into the air like a rocket. 
30 on a rejoicing-day. Had Mary had the hap to have wedded 
the noble earl once destined to share her throne, she had ex¬ 
perienced a husband of different metal; and her husband had 
found in her a wife as complying and loving as the mate of 
the mealiest squire, who follows the hounds a-horseback, and 
35 holds her husband’s bridle as he mounts. ’ 

“It might have been as thou sayest, Varney,” said Leices¬ 
ter, a brief smile of self-satisfaction passing over his anxious 
countenance. “ Henry Darnley knew little of women. 
With Mary, a man who knew her sex might have had some 
40 chance of holding his own; but not with Elizabeth, Varney; 
for I think God, when He gave her the heart of a woman, 
gave her the head of a man to control its follies. No, I 
know her. She will accept love-tokens — ay, and requite 








KENILWORTH 


221 


them with the like; put sugared sonnets in her bosom — 
ay, and answer them too; push gallantry to the very verge 
where it becomes exchange of affection; but she writes ml 
ultra 0 to all which is to follow, and would not barter one 
iota of her own supreme power for all the alphabet of both 5 
Cupid and Hymen. 0 ” . . 

“The better for you, my lord,” said Varney, “that is, m 
the case supposed, if such be her disposition; since you think 
you cannot aspire to become her husband. Her favourite 
•you are, and may remain, if the lady at Cumnor Place con- 10 
tinues in her present obscurity.” 

“Poor Amy!” said Leicester, with a deep sigh; she 
desires so earnestly to be acknowledged in presence of God 


and man!” , . . 

“Ay, but, my lord,” said Varney, “is her desire reason-15 
able? that is the question. Her religious scruples are 
solved: she is an honoured and beloved wife, enjoying the 
society of her husband at such times as his weightier duties 
permit him to afford her his company. What would she 
more? I am right sure that a lady so gentle and so loving 20 
would consent to live her life through in a certain obscurity 

_which is, after all, not dimmer than when she was at 

Lidcote Hall — rather than diminish the least jot of her 
lord’s honours and greatness by a premature attempt to 

share them.” . 2 5 

“There is something in what thou say’st,’ said Leicester, 

“ and her appearance here were fatal. Yet she must be seen 
at Kenilworth: Elizabeth will not forget that she has so 


appomtML ^ ^ ^ hard point » sai( j y arne y; “ I can- 30 

not else perfect the device I have on the stithy, which I trust 
will satisfy the Queen and please my honoured lady, yet 
leave this fatal secret where it is now buried. Has yOUr 
lordship further commands for the night? 

“ I would be alone,” said Leicester. Leave me, and place 35 
my steel casket on the table. Be within summons 

Varney retired; and the earl, opening the window of his 
apartment, looked out long and anxiously upon the brilliant 
host of stars which glimmered in the splendour of a summer 
firmament. The words burst from him as at unawares — 40 
«I had never more need that the heavenly bodies should be¬ 
friend me, for my earthly path is darkened and confused 
It is well known that the age reposed a deep confidence m 


222 


KENILWORTH 


the vain predictions of judicial astrology, 0 and Leicester, 
though exempt from the general control of superstition, was 
not in this respect superior to his time; but, on the contrary, 
was remarkable for the encouragement which he gave to the 
5 professors of this pretended science. Indeed, the wish to pry 
into futurity, so general among the human race, is peculiarly 
to be found amongst those who trade in state mysteries, and 
the dangerous intrigues and cabals of court. With heedful 
precaution to see that it had not been opened, or its locks 
io tampered with,. Leicester applied a key to the steel casket, 
and drew from it, first, a parcel of gold pieces, which he put 
into a silk purse; then a parchment inscribed with planetary 
signs, and the lines and, calculations used in framing horo¬ 
scopes, on which he gazed intently for a few moments; and, 
iS lastly, took forth a large key, which, lifting aside the tapes¬ 
try, he applied to a little concealed door in the corner of the 
apartment, and, opening it, disclosed a stair constructed in 
the thickness of the wall. 

Alasco,” said the earl, with a voice raised, yet no higher 
20 raised than to be heard by the inhabitant of the small turret 
to which the stair conducted — “ Alasco, I say, descend.” 

“I come, my lord,” answered a voice from above. The 
foot of an aged man was heard slowly descending the nar¬ 
row stair, and Alasco entered the earl’s apartment. The as- 
25 trologer was a little man, and seemed much advanced in age, 
for his beard was long and white, and reached over his black 
doublet down to his silken girdle. His hair was of the same 
venerable hue. But his eyebrows were as dark as the keen 
and piercing black eyes which they shaded, and this pecul- 
3 o lanty gave a wild and singular cast to the physiognomy of 
the old man. His cheek was still fresh and ruddy, and the 
eyes we have mentioned resembled those of a rat in acuteness, 
and even fierceness, of expression. His manner was not 
without a sort of dignity; and the interpreter of the stars 
35 though respectful, seemed altogether at his ease, and even 
assumed a tone of instruction and command in conversing 
with the prime favourite of Elizabeth. 

“ Your prognostications have failed, Alasco,” said the earl 
when they had exchanged salutations. “He is recover- 
40 mg.” 

“My son,” replied the astrologer, “let me remind you, I 
warranted not his death; nor is there any prognostication 
that can be derived from the heavenly bodies, their aspects 







KENILWORTH 


223 


and their conjunctions, which is not liable to be controlled 
by the will of Heaven. Astra regunt homines, sed regit 
astra Deus.° ” 

“Of what avail, then, is your mystery?” inquired the 
earl. 5 

“Of much, my son,” replied the old man, “since it can 
show the natural and probable course of events, although 
that course moves in subordination to an Higher Power. 
Thus, in reviewing the horoscope which your lordship 
subjected to my skill, you will observe that Saturn, being in 10 
the sixth house in opposition to Mars, retrograde in the 
House of Life, cannot but denote long and dangerous sick¬ 
ness, the issue whereof is in the will of Heaven, though 
death may probably be inferred. Yet, if I knew the name 
of the party, I would erect another scheme.” 15 

“ His name is a secret,” said the earl; “yet, I must own, 
thy prognostication hath not been unfaithful. He has been 
sick, and dangerously so—not, however, to death. But hast 
thou again cast my horoscope, as Yarney directed thee, 
and art thou prepared to say what the stars tell of my 20 
present fortune ?” 

“My art stands at your command,” said the old man, 
“and here, my son, is the map of thy fortunes, brilliant in 
aspect as ever beamed from those blessed signs whereby 
our life is influenced, yet not unchequered with fears, 25 
difficulties, and dangers.” 

“My lot were more than mortal were it otherwise,” said 
the earl; “proceed, father, and believe you speak with one 
ready to undergo his destiny in action and in passion as may 
beseem a noble of England.” 3° 

“ Thy courage to do and to suffer must be wound up yet a 
strain higher,” said the old man. “ The stars intimate yet a 
prouder title, yet an higher rank. It is for thee to guess their 
meaning, not for me to name it.” 

“ Name it, I conjure you — name it, I command you,” 35 
said the earl, his eyes brightening as he spoke. 

“I may not, and I will not,” replied the old man. “The 
ire of princes is as the wrath of the lion. But mark, and 
judge for thyself. Here Venus, ascendant in the House of 
Life, and conjoined with Sol, showers down that flood of 40 
silver light, blent with gold, which promises power, wealth, 
dignity, all that the proud heart of man desires, and in such 
abundance, that never the future Augustus 0 of that old and 


224 


KENILWORTH 


mighty Rome heard from his haruspices 0 such a tale of glory 
as from this rich text my lore might read to my favourite 
son.” 

“ Thou dost but jest with me, father,” said the earl, aston- 
5 ished at the strain of enthusiasm in which the astrologer 
delivered his prediction. 

“ Is it for him to jest who hath his eye on heaven, who hath 
his foot in the grave? ” returned the old man, solemnly. 

The earl made two or three strides through the apartment, 
io with his hand outstretched, as one who follows the beckoning 
signal of some phantom, waving him on to deeds of high im¬ 
port. As he turned, however, he caught the eye of the as¬ 
trologer fixed on him, while an observing glance of the most 
shrewd penetration shot from under the penthouse of his 
15 shaggy dark eyebrows. Leicester’s haughty and suspicious 
soul at once caught fire; he darted towards the old man 
from the further end of the lofty apartment, only standing 
still when his extended hand was within a foot of the as¬ 
trologer’ s body. 

20 “ Wretch !” he said, “if you dare to palter with me, I will 

have your skin stripped from your living flesh! Confess 
thou hast been hired to deceive and to betray me — that 
thou art a cheat, and I thy silly prey and booty ! ” 

The old man exhibited some symptoms of emotion, but 
25 not more than the furious deportment of his patron might 
have extorted from innocence itself. 

“ What means this violence, my lord,” he answered, “ or in 
what can I have deserved it at your hand ? ” 

“Give me proof,” said the earl, vehemently, “that you 
30 have not tampered with mine enemies.” 

“My lord,” replied the old man, with dignity, “you can 
have no better proof than that which you yourself elected. 
In that turret I have spent the last twenty-four hours, under 
the key which has been in your own custody. The hours of 
35 darkness I have spent in gazing on the heavenly bodies with 
these dim eyes, and during those of light I have toiled this 
aged brain to complete the calculations arising from their 
combinations. Earthly food I have not tasted — earthly 
voice I have not heard. You are yourself aware I had no 
4 ° means of doing so; and yet I tell you — I who have been thus 
shut up in solitude and study — that within these twenty- 
four hours your star has become predominant in the horizon, 
and either the bright book of heaven speaks false or there 







KENILWORTH 


225 


must have been a proportionate revolution in your fortunes 
upon earth. If nothing has happened within that space to 
secure your power or advance your favour, then am I indeed 
a cheat, and the divine art, which was first devised in the 
plains of Chaldea , 0 is a foul imposture.” 5 

“It is true,” said Leicester, after a moment’s reflection, 
“thou wert closely immured, and it is also true that the 
change has taken place in my situation which thou §ay’st 
the horoscope indicates.” 

“Wherefore this distrust, then, my son?” said the astrol- 10 
oger, assuming a tone of admonition; “the celestial 
intelligences brook not diffidence, even in their favourite.” 

“Peace, father,” answered Leicester, “I have erred in 
doubting thee. Not to mortal man, nor to celestial intelli¬ 
gence— under that which is supreme — will Dudley’s lips 15 
say more in condescension or apology. Speak rather to the 
present purpose. Amid these bright promises, thou hast 
said there was a threatening aspect. Can thy skill tell 
whence, or by whose means, such danger seems to impend? ” 
“Thus far only,” answered the astrologer, “does my art 20 
enable me to answer your query. The infortune is threatened 
by the malignant and adverse aspect, through means of a 
youth, and, as I think, a rival; but whether in love or in 
prince’s favour, I know not; nor can I give farther indication 
respecting him, save that he comes from the western quarter.” 25 
“The western — ha!” replied Leicester, “it is enough; 
the tempest does indeed brew in that quarter. Cornwall and 
Devon—Raleigh and Tressilian—one of them is indicated; 

I must beware of both. Father, if I have done thy skill 
injustice, I will make thee a lordly recompense.” 3 ° 

He took a purse of gold from the strong casket which 
stood before him. “Have thou double the recompense 
which Varney promised. Be faithful — be secret — obey 
the directions thou shalt receive from my master of the horse, 
and grudge not a little seclusion or restraint in my cause; 35 
it shall be richly considered. Here, Varney, conduct this 
venerable man to thine own lodging; tend him heedfully 
in all things, but see that he holds communications with no 
one.” 

Varney bowed, and the astrologer kissed the earl’s hand 40 
in token of adieu, and followed the master of the horse to 
another apartment, in which were placed wine and refresh¬ 
ments for his use. 



226 


KENILWORTH 


The astrologer sat down to his repast, while Varney shut 
two doors with great precaution, examined the tapestry, 
lest any listener lurked behind it; and then sitting down 
opposite to the sage, began to question him. 

5 “Saw you my signal from the court beneath?” 

“ I did,” said Alasco, for by such name he was at present 
called, “and shaped the horoscope accordingly.” 

“And it passed upon the patron without challenge?” 
continued Varney. 

io “ Not without challenge,” replied the old man, “but it did 
pass; and I added, as before agreed, danger from a dis¬ 
covered secret and a western youth.” 

“ My lord's fear will stand a sponsor to the one and his con¬ 
science to the other of these prognostications,” replied Var- 
15 ney. “ Sure, never man chose to run such a race as this, yet 
continued to retain those silly scruples ! I am fain to cheat 
him to his own profit. But touching your matters, sage 
interpreter of the stars, I can tell you more of your own 
fortune than plan or figure can show. You must be gone 
20 from hence forthwith.” 

“I will not,” said Alasco, peevishly. “I have been too 
much hurried up and down of late — immured for day and 
night in a desolate turret-chamber; I must enjoy my liberty, 
and pursue my studies, which are of more import than the 
25 fate of fifty statesmen and favourites, that rise and burst 
like bubbles in the atmosphere of a court.” 

“At your pleasure,” said Varney, with a sneer which 
habit had rendered familiar to his features, and which forms 
the principal characteristic that painters have assigned to 
30 those of Satan— “at your pleasure,” he said; “you may 
enjoy your liberty and your studies until the daggers of 
Sussex’s followers are clashing within your doublet, and 
against your ribs.” The old man turned pale, and Varney 
proceeded. “Wot you not he hath offered a reward for 
35 the arch-quack and poison-vender, Demetrius, who sold 
certain precious spice to his lordship’s cook ? What! 
turn you pale, old friend? Does Hali° already see an 
infortune in the House of Life? Why, hark thee, we will 
have thee down to an old house of mine in the country, 
40 where thou shalt live with a hobnailed slave, whom thy 
alchemy may convert into ducats, for to such conversion 
alone is thy art serviceable.” 

“ It is false, thou foul-mouthed railer,” said Alasco, shak- 





KENILWORTH 


227 


ing with impotent anger: “ It is well known that I have ap¬ 
proached more nearly to projection 0 than any hermetic 
artist who now lives. There are not six chemists in the 
world who possess so near an approximation to the grand 
arcanum-” 5 

“Come — come,” said Varney, interrupting him, “what 
means this, in the name of Heaven? Do we not know one 
another ? I believe thee to be so perfect — so very perfect, 
in the mystery of cheating, that, having imposed upon all 
mankind, thou hast at length, in some measure, imposed 10 
upon thyself; and without ceasing to dupe others, hast 
become a species of dupe to thine own imagination. Blush 
not for it, man; thou art learned, and shalt have classical 
comfort: 

Ne quisquam Ajacem possit superare nisi Ajax . 0 

No one but thyself could have gulled thee, and thou hast 
gulled the whole brotherhood of the Rosy Cross beside — 
none so deep in the mystery as thou. But hark thee in 
thine ear: had the seasoning which spiced Sussex’s broth 
wrought more surely, I would have thought better of the 20 
chemical science thou dost boast so highly.” 

■“Thou art an hardened villain, Varney,” replied Alasco; 
“many will do those things, who dare not speak of them.” 

“And many speak of them who dare not do them,” 
answered Varney; “but be not wroth — I will not quarrel 25 
with thee. If I did, I were fain to live on eggs for a month, 
that I might feed without fear. Tell me at once, how came 
thine art to fail thee at this great emergency?” 

“The Earl of Sussex’s horoscope intimates,” replied the 
astrologer, “ that the sign of the ascendant being in combus- 30 
tion-” 

“Away with your gibberish,” replied Varney; “think’st 
thou it is the patron thou speak’st with?’ 

“ I crave your pardon,” replied the old man, “ and swear to 
you, I know but one medicine that could have saved the 35 
earl’s life; and as no man living in England knows that 
antidote save myself; moreover, as the ingredients, one of 
them in particular, are scarce possible to be come by, I 
must needs suppose his escape was owing to such a constitu¬ 
tion of lungs and vital parts as was never before bound up in 40 
a body of clay.” 

“There was some talk of a quack who waited on him,” 









228 


EE NIL WORTH 


said Varney, after a moment’s reflection. “Are you sure 
there is no one in England who has this secret of thine?” 

“ One man there was,” said the doctor, “ once my servant, 
who might have stolen this of me, with one or two other 
5 secrets of art. But content you, Master Varney, it is no part 
of my policy to suffer such interlopers to interfere in my trade. 
He pries into no mysteries more, I warrant you; for, as I 
well believe, he hath been wafted to heaven on the wing of a 
fiery dragon. Peace be with him! But in this retreat of 
io mine, I shall have the use of mine elaboratory ? ” 

“Of a whole workshop, man,” said Varney; “for a rev¬ 
erend father abbot, who was fain to give place to bluff 
King Hal° and some of his courtiers a score of years since, 
had a chemist’s complete apparatus, which he was obliged 
15 to leave behind him to his successors. Thou shalt there 
occupy, and melt, and puff, and blaze, and multiply, until 
the green dragon become a golden goose, or whatever the 
newer phrase of the brotherhood may testify.” 

“Thou art right, Master Varney,” said the alchemist, 
20 setting his teeth close and grinding them together — 
“thou art right, even in thy very contempt of right and 
reason. For what thou say’st in mockery may in sober 
verity chance to happen ere we meet again. If the most 
venerable sages of ancient days have spoken the truth; 
25 if the most learned of our own have rightly received it; 
if I have been accepted wherever I travelled, in Germany, 
in Poland, in Italy, and in the farther Tartary, as one to 
whom nature has unveiled her darkest secrets; if I have 
acquired the most secret signs and passwords of the Jewish 
3 o Cabala, 0 so that the greyest beard in the synagogue would 
a brush the steps to make them clean for me — if all this is so, 
and if there remains but one step — one little step — be¬ 
twixt my long, deep, and dark, and subterranean progress 
and that blaze of light which shall show nature watching her 
-5 richest and her most glorious productions in the very cradle 
0 — on e step betwixt dependence and the power of sovereignty 
— one step betwixt poverty and such a sum of wealth as 
earth, without that noble secret, cannot minister from all 
her mines in the old or the new-found world — if this be 
4 o all so, is it not reasonable that to this I dedicate my future 
* life, secure, for a brief period of studious patience, to rise 
above the mean dependence upon favourites and their 
favourites by which I am now enthralled?” 







KENILWORTH 


229 


“ Now, bravo ! bravo ! my good father,” said Varney, with 
the usual sardonic expression of ridicule on his countenance; 
“yet all this approximation to the philosopher’s stone 
wringeth not one single crown out of my Lord Leicester’s 
pouch, and far less out of Richard Varney’s. We musts 
have earthly and substantial services, man, and care not 
whom else thou canst delude with thy philosophical charla¬ 
tanry.” 

“ My son Varney,” said the alchemist, “the unbelief, gath¬ 
ered around thee like a frost-fog, hath dimmed thine acute io 
perception to that which is a stumbling-block to the wise, 
and which yet, to him who seeketh knowledge with humility, 
extends a lesson so clear that he who runs may read. Hath 
not art, think’st thou, the means of completing nature’s 
imperfect concoctions in her attempts to form the precious 15 
metals, even as by art we can perfect those other operations, 
of incubation, distillation, fermentation, and similar pro¬ 
cesses of an ordinary description, by which we extract 
life itself out of a senseless egg, summon purity and vitality 
out of muddy dregs, or call into vivacity the inert substance 20 
of a sluggish liquid ? ” „ 

“I have heard all this before,” said Varney, “and my 
heart is proof against such cant ever since I sent twenty 
good gold pieces — marry, it was in the nonage of my wit — 
to advance the grand magisterium, 0 all which, God help 25 
the while, vanished in fumo. Since that moment, when I 
paid for my freedom, I defy chemistry, astrology, palmistry, 
and every other occult art, were it as secret as hell itself, 
to unloose the stricture of my purse-strings. Marry, I 
neither defy the manna of St. Nicholas nor can I dispense with 30 
it. Thy first task must be to prepare some when thou get’ st 
down to my little sequestered retreat yonder, and then make 
as much gold as thou wilt.” 

“ I will make no more of that dose, said the alchemist, 


resolutely. , .... , , 35 

“Then,” said the master of the horse, thou shalt be 
hanged for what thou hast made already, and so were the 
great secret for ever lost to mankind. Do not humanity this 
injustice, good father, but e’ en bend to thy destiny, and make 
us an ounce or two of this same stuff, which cannot preju- 4 ° 
dice above one or two individuals, in order to gain lifetime 
to discover the universal medicine, which shall clear away all 
mortal diseases at once. But cheer up, thou grave, learned, 




230 


KENILWORTH 


and most melancholy jackanapes! Hast thou not told me 
that a moderate portion of thy drug hath mild effects, no 
ways ultimately dangerous to the human frame, but which 
produces depression of spirits, nausea, headache, an un- 
5 willingness to change of place — even such a state of temper 
as would keep a bird from flying out of a cage were the door 
left open ? ” 

“I have said so, and it is true,” said the alchemist; “this 
effect will it produce, and the bird who partakes of it in such 
io proportion shall sit for a season drooping on her perch, with¬ 
out thinking either of tfye free blue sky or of the fair green¬ 
wood, though the one be lighted by the rays of the rising sun 
and the other ringing with the newly awakened song of 
all the feathered inhabitants of the forest.” 

15 “And this without danger to life?” said Varney, some¬ 
what anxiously. 

“Ay, so that proportion and measure be not exceeded; 
and so that one who knows the nature of the manna be ever 
near to watch the symptoms, and succour in case of need.” 
20 “Thou shalt regulate the whole," said Varney; “thy 
reward shall be princely, if thou keepest time and touch, and 
exceedest not the due proportion, to the prejudice of her 
health; otherwise thy punishment shall be as signal.” 

“The prejudice of her health!” repeated Alasco; “it is, 
25 then, a woman I am to use my skill upon?” 

“No, thou fool,” replied Varney; “said I not it was a 
bird — a reclaimed linnet, whose pipe might soothe a hawk 
when in mid stoop? I see thine eye sparkle, and I know 
thy beard is not altogether so white as art has made it: 
30 that, at least, thou hast been able to transmute to silver. 
But mark me, this is no mate for thee. This caged bird is 
dear to one who brooks no rivalry, and far less such rivalry 
as thine, and her health must over all things be cared for. 
But she is in the case of being commanded down to yonder 
35 Kenilworth revels; and it is most expedient — most need¬ 
ful — most necessary that she fly not thither. Of these 
necessities and their causes it is not needful that she should 
know aught, and it is to be thought that her own wish may 
lead her to combat all ordinary reasons which can be urged 
40 for her remaining a housekeeper.” 

“That is but natural,” said the alchemist, with a strange 
smile, which yet bore a greater reference to the human char¬ 
acter than the uninterested and abstracted gaze which his 





KENILWORTH 


231 


physiognomy had hitherto expressed, where all seemed to 
refer to some world distant from that which was existing 
around him. 

“It is so,” answered Varney: “you understand women 
well, though it may have been long since you were conversant 5 
amongst them. Well, then, she is not to be contradicted, 
yet she is not to be humoured. Understand me — a slight 
illness, sufficient to take away the desire of removing from 
thence, and to make such of your wise fraternity as may be 
called in to aid recommend a quiet residence at home, will, 10 
in one word, be esteemed good service, and remunerated as 
such.” 

“I am not to be asked to affect the House of Life?” said 
the chemist. 

“ On the contrary, we will have thee hanged if thou dost,” 15 
replied Varney. 

“ And I must,” added Alasco, “have opportunity to do my 
turn, and all facilities for concealment or escape, should 
there be detection?” 

“ All — all, and everything, thou infidel in all but the im- 20 
possibilities of alchemy. Why, man, for what dost thou 
take me?” 

The old man rose, and taking a light, walked towards the 
end of the apartment, where was a door that led to the small 
sleeping-room destined for his reception during the night. 25 
At the door he turned round, and slowly repeated Varney’s 
question ere he answered it. “For what do I take thee, 
Richard Varney? Why, for a worse devil than I have been 
myself. But I am in your toils, and. I must serve you till 
my term be out.” 30 

“Well — well,” answered Varney, hastily, “be stirring 
with grey light. It may be we shall not need thy medicine. 0 
Do nought till I myself come down. Michael Lambourne 
shall guide you to the place of your destination.” 

When Varney heard the adept’s door shut and carefully 35 
bolted within, he stepped towards it, and with similar precau¬ 
tion carefully locked it on the outside, and took the key from 
the lock, muttering to himself, “ Worse than thee, thou 
poisoning quacksalver and witch-monger, who, if thou art 
not a bounden slave to the devil, it is only because he dis- 40 
dains such an apprentice! I am a mortal man, and seek 
by mortal means the gratification of my passions and 
advancement of my prospects. Thou art a vassal of hell 



232 


KENILWORTH 


itself. So ho, Lambourne!” he called at another door, 
and Michael made his appearance, with a flushed cheek and 
an unsteady step. 

“Thou art drunk, thou villain !” said Varney to him. 

5 “Doubtless, noble sir,” replied the unabashed Michael, 
“we have been drinking all even to the glories of the day, 
and to my noble Lord of Leicester, and his valiant master 
of the horse. Drunk! odds blades and poniards, he that 
would refuse to swallow a dozen healths on such an evening 
io is a base besognio and a puckfist, 0 and shall swallow six 
inches of my dagger ! ” 

“Hark ye, scoundrel,” said Varney, “be sober on the in¬ 
stant, I command thee. I know thou canst throw off thy 
drunken folly, like a fool’s coat, at pleasure; and if not, it 
15 were the worse for thee.” 

Lambourne dropped his head, left the apartment, and re¬ 
turned in two or three minutes with his face composed, his 
hair adjusted, his dress in order, and exhibiting as great a 
difference from his former self as if the whole man had been 
20 changed. 

“Art thou sober now, and dost thou comprehend me?” 
said Varney, sternly. 

Lambourne bowed in acquiescence. 

“Thou must presently down to Cumnor Place with the 
25 reverend man of art who sleeps yonder in the little vaulted 
chamber. Here is the key, that thou mayst call him betimes. 
Take another trusty fellow with you. Use him well on the 
journey, but let him not escape you; pistol him if he attempt 
it, and I will be your warrant. I will give thee letters to 
30 Foster. The doctor is fo occupy the lower apartments of the 
eastern quadrangle, with freedom to use the old elaboratory 
and its implements. He is to have no access to the lady, but 
such as I shall point out — only she may be amused to see 
his philosophical jugglery. Thou wilt wait at Cumnor 
35 Place my farther orders; and, as thou livest, beware of the 
ale-bench and the aquavitce flask. Each breath drawn in 
Cumnor Place must be kept severed from common air.” 

“ Enough, my lord — I mean my worshipful master — 
soon, I trust, to be my worshipful knightly master. You 
40 have given me my lesson and my license; I will execute the 
one, and not abuse the other. I will be in the saddle by day¬ 
break.” 

“ Do 'so, and deserve favour. Stay — ere thou goest, fill 



KENILWORTH 


233 


me a cup of wine; not out of that flask, sirrah/’ as Lam- 
bourne was pouring out from that which Alasco had left 
half finished, “fetch me a fresh one.” 

Lambourne obeyed, and Varney, after rinsing his mouth 
with the liquor, drank a full cup, and said, as he took up a 5 
lamp to retreat to his sleeping-apartment: “ It is strange — 

I am as little the slave of fancy as any one, yet I never speak 
for a few minutes with this fellow Alasco, but my mouth and 
lungs feel as if soiled with the fumes of calcined arsenic — 
pah ^ 

So saying, he left the apartment. Lambourne lingered, to 
drink a cup of the freshly opened flask. It is f roi V ^t. 
John’s Berg° !” he said, as he paused on the draught to 
enioy its flavour, “and has the true relish of the violet. 
But I must forbear it now, that I may one day drink it at 15 
mv own pleasure.” And he quaffed a goblet of water to 
quench the fumes of the Rhenish wine, retired slowly tow¬ 
ards the door, made a pause, and then, finding the tempta¬ 
tion irresistible, walked hastily back, and took another long 
pull at the wine-flask, without the formality of cup. 20 

“Were it not for this accursed custom, he said, I 
might climb as high as Varney himself. But who can climb 
when the room turns round with him like a parish-top f 
I would the distance were greater, or the road rougher, 
betwixt my hand and mouth ! But I will drink nothing 25 
to-morrow save water — nothing save fair water. 


CHAPTER XIX 


Pistol. And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys, 

And happy news of price. 

Falstaff I prithee now, deliver them like to a man of this world. 

Pistol. Afoutra for the world, and worldlings base! 

1 speak of Africa, and golden joys. 

Henry IV. Part II. 

T« e public room of the Black Bear at Cumnor, to which 
the scene of our story now returns, boasted, on the evening 
which we treat of, no ordinary assemblage of guests. There 
had been a fair in the neighbourhood, and the cutting 
5 mercer of Abingdon, with some of the other personages whom 
the reader has already been made acquainted with, as friends 
and customers of Giles Gosling, had already formed their 
wonted circle around the evening fire, and were talking over 
the news of the day. 6 

IO ^ arch fellow > whose pack and oaken ell¬ 

wand studded duly with brass points, denoted him to be of 
Autolycus s profession, 0 occupied a good deal of the at¬ 
tention, and furnished much of the amusement, of the 
evening. The pedlars of those days, it must be remembered 
greater importance than the degenerate 
and degraded hawkers of our modern times. It was bv 
means of these peripatetic venders that the country trade 
ln Q the i fine I maaufacture ? used in female dress particularly,' 
was almost entirely carried on; and if a merchant of this 
20 description arrived at the dignity of travelling with a pack- 

a P 0 ? 301 , 1 .^ no sma11 consequence, and company 
tor the most substantial yeoman or franklin whom he might 
meet m his wanderings. 6 

The pedlar of whom we speak bore, accordingly, an active 

25 tb^b nrebU R? d m the merrimen t to whichthe rafters of 
the bonny Black Bear of Cumnor resounded. He had his 
smile with pretty Mistress Cicely, his broad laugh with mine 
host, and his jest upon dashing Master Goldthred who 

234 



KENILWORTH 


235 


though indeed without any such benevolent intention on his 
own part, was the general butt of the evening. The pedlar 
and he were closely engaged in a dispute upon the preference 
due to the Spanish nether-stocks over the black Gascoigne 
hose, and mine host had just winked to the guests around 5 
him, as who should say, “You will have mirth presently, my 
masters/’ when the trampling of horses was heard in the 
■courtyard, and the hostler was loudly summoned, with a 
few of the newest oaths then in vogue to add force to the 
invocation. Out tumbled Will Hostler, John Tapster, and 10 
all the militia of the inn, who had slunk from their posts m 
order to collect some scattered crumbs of the mirth which 
was flying about among the customers. Out into the yard 
sallied mine host himself also, to do fitting salutation to his 
new guests; and presently returned, ushering into the apart- 15 
ment his own worthy nephew, Michael Lambourne, pretty 
tolerably drunk, and having under his escort the astrologer. 
Alasco, though still a little old man, had, by altering his gown 
to a riding-dress, trimming his beard and eyebrows, and so 
forth, struck at least a score of years from his apparent age, 20 
and might now seem an active man of sixty, or little up¬ 
wards. He appeared at present exceedingly anxious, and 
had insisted much with Lambourne that they should not 
enter the inn, but go straight forward to the place ol their 
destination. But Lambourne would not be controlled. 25 
“Bv Cancer and Capricorn, 0 ” he vociferated, and the 
whole heavenly host — besides all the stars that these 
blessed eyes of mine have seen sparkle in the southern heavens, 
to which these northern blinkers are but farthing candles — 

I will be unkindly for no one’s humour —I will stay and 3° 
salute my worthy uncle here. Chesu° ! that good blood 
should ever be forgotten betwixt friends! A gallon of your 
best, uncle, and let it go round to the health of the noble 
Earl of Leicester 1 What! shall we not collogue together 
and warm the cockles, of our ancient kindness? Shall 35 

we not collogue, I say?” . , , . 

“ With all my heart, kinsman, said mine host, who obvi¬ 
ously wished to be rid of him; “ but are you to stand shot to 

all Thh3 is a question has quelled many a jovial toper, but it 40 
moved not the purpose of Lambourne s soul. 
my means, nuncle?” he said, producing a handful of m xed 
gold and silver pieces — “ question Mexico and Peru — 


236 


KENILWORTH 


question the Queen’s exchequer—God save her Majesty! 
She is my good lord’s good mistress.” 

Well, kinsman,” said mine host, “it is my business to sell 
wine to those who can buy it. So, Jack Tapster, do me 
5 thine office. But I would I knew how to come by money as 
lightly as thou dost, Mike.” 

“Why, uncle,” said Lambourne, “I will tell thee a secret. 
Dost see this little old fellow here ? as old and withered a chip 
as ever the devil put into his porridge; and yet, uncle, be- 
io tween you and me, he hath Potosi 0 in that brain of his. 
’Sblood 0 ! he can coin ducats faster than I can vent oaths.” 

“ I will have none of his coinage in my purse though, Mi¬ 
chael,” said mine host; “I know what belongs to falsifying: 
the Queen’s coin.” 

15 “ Thou art an ass, uncle, for as old as thou art. Pull me 

not by the skirts, doctor, thou art an ass thyself to boot- 
so, being both asses, I tell ye I spoke but metaphorically.” ' 

“ Are you mad ! ” said the old man; “ is the devil in you ? 
Can you not let us begone without drawing all men’s eyes on 
20 us ? ” 

“Sayst thou?” said Lambourne. “Thou art deceived 
now — no man shall see you an I give the word. By Heavens, 
masters, an any one dare to look on this old gentleman, I 
will slash the eyes out of his head with my poniard ! So sit 
25 down, old friend, and be merry; these are mine ingles — 
mine ancient inmates, and will betray no man.” 

Had you not better withdraw to a private apartment, 
nephew,” said Giles Gosling. “You speak strange matter,” 
he^added, “and there be intelligencers everywhere.” 

3° “I care not for them,” said the magnanimous Michael. 

Intelligencers ! pshaw ! I serve the noble Earl of Leicester 
Here comes the wine. Fill round, Master Skinker, a carouse 
to the health of the flower of England, the noble Earl of 
Leicester ! I say, the noble Earl of Leicester ! He that does 
35 me not reason is a swine of Sussex, and I’ 11 make him kneel to 
the pledge, if I should cut his hams and smoke them for 
bacon.” 

None disputed a pledge given under such formidable penal¬ 
ties; and Michael Lambourne, whose drunken humour was 
40 not of course diminished by this new potation, went on in the 
same wild way, renewing his acquaintance with such of the 
guests as he had formerly known, and experiencing a re¬ 
ception in which there was now something of deference, 





KENILWORTH 


237 


mingled with a good deal of fear; for the least servitor of the 
favourite earl, especially such a man as Lambourne, was, for 
very sufficient reasons, an object both of the one and of the 

0t Inthe mean while, the old man, seeing his guide in this un- 5 
controllable humour, ceased to remonstrate with him, and 
sitting down in the most obscure corner of the room, called 
for a small measure of sack, over which he seemed, as it 
were, to slumber, withdrawing himself as much as possible 
from general observation, and doing nothing which could 10 
recall his existence to the recollection of his fellow-traveller, 
who by this time had got into close intimacy with his ancient 
comrade, Goldthred of Abingdon. (( . tT 

“ Never believe me, bully Mike, said the mercer, if I am 
not as glad to see thee as ever I was to see a customer s 15 
money! Why, thou canst give a friend a sly place at a 
mask or a revel now, Mike; ay, or, I warrant thee, thou 
canst say in my lord’s ear, when my honourable lord is 
down in these parts, and wants a Spanish ruff or the like 
thou 1 canst say in his ear: "There is mine old friend,young *o 
Laurence Goldthred of Abingdon, has as good wares lawn 
tiffanv cambric, and so forth — ay, and is as pretty a 
piece^of man’s flesh, too, as is in Berkshire and will ruffle 
Ft for your lordship with any man of his inches ; and thou ^ 

hundred d—d lies besides mercer,” an¬ 
swered Lambourne; “ what, one must not stand upon a good 

W °“Here Ts to thee, Mike, with all my heart,” said the mer¬ 
cer • “ and thou canst tell one the reality of the new fashions 30 
too’ Here was a rogue pedlar but now was crying up the 
old-fashioned Spanifh Aether-stocks 

hose although thou seest how well the French hose set 
off the leg and knee, being adorned with parti-coloured 

“7*7’ n 

limber bit of a thigh, thrust through that bunch of slashed 
buckram and tiffany, shows like a housewife s distaff when 

th “ SaFcU saW the mercer, whose shallow brain was 40 

now overflowed in his turn; "where, then — where be this 
rascal pedlar? — there was a pedlar here but now, me- 
thinks. P Mine host, where the foul fiend is this pedlar. 


238 


KENIL WORTH 


“ Where wise men should be, Master Goldthred” replied 
Giles Gosling: “even shut up in his private chamber, telling 
over the sales of to-day, and preparing for the custom of to¬ 
morrow.” 

5 “ Hang him, a mechanical chuff !” said the mercer; “but 

for shame, it were a good deed to ease him of his wares — a 
set of peddling knaves, who stroll through the land, and hurt 
the established trader. There are good fellows in Berkshire 
yet, mine host; your pedlar may be met withal on Maiden 
io Castle.” 

“ Ay,” replied mine host, laughing, “ and he who meets him 
may meet his match: the pedlar is a tall man.” 

“Is he?” said Goldthred. 

“Is he !” replied the host; “ay, by cock and pie, is he — 
15 the very pedlar he who raddled 0 itobin Hood so tightly as 
the song says — 

Now Robin Hood drew his sword so good, 

The pedlar drew his brand, 

And he hath raddled Robin Hood, 

20 Till he neither could see nor stand. 0 ” 


2 5 


v?u Dg hl !?’ foul scr °y le > let him pass,” said the mercer* 
it he be such a one, there were small worship to be won upon 

„ nd , now tel1 me > Mike — my honest Mike, how wears 
the hollands you won of me?” 

“ Why well, as you may see, Master Goldthred,” answered 
Mike; 1 will bestow a pot on thee for the handsel. Fill the 

flagon, Master Tapster.” 

, .“ wilt wi]1 no more ho flands, I think, on such wager, 
friend Mike, said the mercer; “for the silly swain, Tony 
30 t oster, rails at thee all to nought, and swears you shall ne’ er 
darken his doors again, for that your oaths are enough to 
blow the roof off a Christian man’s dwelling.” 

Doth he say so, the mincing, hypocritical miser?” 
vociferated Lambourne. “ Why, then, he shall come down 
35 and receive my commands here, this blessed night, under mv 
uncle s roof! And I will ring him such a black sanctus 0 
that he shah think the devil hath him by the skirts for a 
month to come, for barely hearing me.” 

“Nay’ now the P° ttle -P°t is uppermost, with a witness ! ” 
4 o said the mercer. “Tony Foster obey thy whistle ! Alas ! 
good Mike, go sleep — go sleep.” 






KENILWORTH 


239 


“ I tell thee what, thou thin-faced gull/' said Michael Lam- 
bourne, in high chafe, “ I will wager thee fifty angels against 
the first five shelves of thy shop, numbering upward from the 
false light, with all that is on them, that I make Tony Foster 
come down to this public-house before we have finished three 5 
rounds.” 

“I will lay no bet to that amount,” said the mercer, 
something sobered by an offer which intimated rather too 
private a knowledge, on Lambourne’s part, of the secret 
, recesses of his shop — “I will lay no such wager,” he said; i C 
“ but I will stake five angels against thy five, if thou wilt, 
that Tony Foster will not leave his own roof, or come to 
alehouse after prayer time, for thee or any man.” 

“ Content,” said Lambourne. “ Here, uncle, hold stakes, 
and let one of your young bleed-barrels there — one of your 15 
infant tapsters, trip presently up to the Place, and give this 
letter to Master Foster, and say that I, his ingle, Michael 
Lambourne, pray to speak with him at mine uncle’s castle 
here, upon business of grave import. Away with thee, 
child, for it is now sundown, and the wretch goeth to bed 2Q 
with the birds, to save mutton-suet — faugh ! ” 

Shortly after this messenger was despatched —an 
interval which was spent in drinking and buffoonery — he 
returned with the answer that Master Foster was coming 
presently. 25 

“ Won — won !” said Lambourne, darting on the stakes. 

“Not till he comes, if you please,” said the mercer, inter¬ 
fering. 

“Why, ’sblood, he is at the threshold,” replied Michael. 
“What said he, boy?” 30 

“ If it please your worship,” answered the messenger, “he 
looked out of window, with a musquetoon in his hand, 
and when I delivered your errand, which I did with fear and 
trembling, he said, with a vinegar aspect, that your worship 
might be gone to the infernal regions.” 35 

“Or to hell, I suppose,” said Lambourne; “it is there he 
disposes of all that are not of the congregation.” 

“Even so,” said the boy; “I used the other phrase as 
being the more poetical.” 

“ An ingenious youth,” said Michael; “shalt have a drop 40 
to wet thy poetical whistle. And what said Foster next? 

“ He called me back,” answered the boy, “ and bid me say, 
you might come to him, if you had aught to say to him. 


240 


KENILWORTH 


“And what next?” said Lambourne. 

“ He read the letter, and seemed in a fluster, and asked if 
your worship was in drink; and I said you were speaking a 
little Spanish, as one who had been in the Canaries.” 

5 “Out, you diminutive pint-pot, whelped of an overgrown 
reckoning ! ” replied Lambourne — “ out! But what said 
he then?” 

“ Why,” said the boy, “he muttered, that if he came not, 
your worship would bolt out what were better kept in; and 
io so he took his old flap cap and threadbare blue cloak, and, 
as “I said before, he will be here incontinent.” 

“ There is truth in what he said,” replied Lambourne, as if 
speaking to himself. “ My brain has played me its old dog’s 
trick; but corragio — let him approach ! I have not rolled 
*5 about in the world for many a day, to fear Tony Foster, be I 
drunk or sober. Bring me a flagon of cold water, to christen 
my sack withal.” 

While Lambourne, whom the approach of Foster seemed 
to have recalled to a sense of his own condition, was busied in 
20 preparing to receive him, Giles Gosling stole up to the apart¬ 
ment of the pedlar, whom he found traversing the room in 
much agitation. 

“You withdrew yourself suddenly from the company,” 
said the landlord to the guest. 

25 “ It was time, when the devil became one among you,” re¬ 

plied the pedlar. 

“ It is not courteous in you to term my nephew by such a 
name,” said Gosling, “nor is it kindly in me to reply to it; 
and yet, in some sort, Mike may be considered as a limb of 
30 Satan.” 

“Pooh, I talk not of the swaggering ruffian,” replied the 

pedlar; “ it is of the other, who, for aught I know- But 

when go they? or wherefore come they?” 

“ Marry, these are questions I cannot answer,” replied the 
35 host. “ But look you, sir, you have brought me a token 
from worthy Master Tressilian — a pretty stone it is.” He 
took out the ring, and looked at it, adding, as he put it into 
his purse again, that it was too rich a guerdon for anything 
he could do for the worthy donor. He was, he said, in the 
40 public line, and it ill became him to be too inquisitive into 
other folks’ concerns; he had already said that he could hear 
nothing but that the lady lived still at Cumnor Place, in the 
closest seclusion, and, to such as by chance had a view of her, 




KENILWORTH 


241 


seemed pensive, and discontented with her solitude. “ But 
here,” he said, “if you are desirous to gratify your master, is 
the rarest chance that hath occurred for this many a day. 
Tony Foster is coming down hither, and it is but letting Mike 
Lambourne smell another wine-flask, and the Queen’s com- 5 
mand would not move him from the ale-bench. So they are 
fast for an hour or so. Now, if you will don your pack, which 
will be your best excuse, you may, perchance, win the ear of 
the old servant, being assured of the master’s absence, to let 
you try to get some custom of the lady, and then you may 10 
learn more of her condition than I or any other can tell you.” 

“True — very true,” answered Wayland, for he it was; 
“an excellent device, but methinks something dangerous; 
for, say Foster should return?” 

“ Very possible indeed,” replied the host. 15 

“Or say,” continued Wayland, “the lady should render 
me cold thanks for my exertions?” 

“As is not unlikely,” replied Giles Gosling. “I marvel 
Master Tressilian will take such heed of her that cares not for 
him.” 20 

“ In either case I were foully sped,” said Wayland; “and 
therefore I do not, on the whole, much relish your device.” 

“Nay, but take me with you, good master serving-man,” 
replied mine host, “this is your master’s business and not 
mine; you best know the risk to be encountered, or how far 25 
you are willing to brave it. But that which you will not 
yourself hazard, you cannot expect others to risk. ’ 

“Hold — hold,” said Wayland; “tell me but one thing. 
Goes yonder old man up to Cumnor ? ” 

“Surely, I think so,” said the landlord; “their servant 3° 
said he was to take their baggage thither, but the ale-tap has 
been as potent for him as the sack-spigot has been for 
Michael.” 

“It is enough,” said Wayland, assuming an air of resolu¬ 
tion;— “I will thwart that old villain’s projects; my af -35 
fright at his baleful aspect begins to abate, and my hatred to 
arise. Help me on with my pack, good mine host. And 
look to thyself, old Albumazar 0 : there is a malignant in¬ 
fluence in thy horoscope, and it gleams from the constellation 
Ursa Major. 0 ” 4° 

So saying, he assumed his burden, and, guided by the 
landlord through the postern gate of the Black Bear, took 
the most private way from thence up to Cumnor Place. 

R 


CHAPTER XX 


Clown. You have of these pedlars, that have more in ’em than 
you’d think, sister. 

Winter’s Tale, Act. iv. Scene 3 . 


In his anxiety to obey the earl’s repeated charges of 
secrecy, as well as from his own unsocial and miserly habits, 
Anthony Foster was more desirous, by his mode of house¬ 
keeping, to escape observation than to resist intrusive curi- 
5 osity. Thus, instead of a numerous household, to secure 
his charge and defend his house, he studied, as much as pos¬ 
sible, to elude notice by diminishing his attendants; so that, 
unless when there were followers of the earl or of Varney in 
the mansion, one old male domestic and two aged crones, 
io who assisted in keeping the countess’s apartments in order, 
were the only servants of the family. 

It was one of these old women who opened the door when 
Wayland knocked, and answered his petition to be ad¬ 
mitted to exhibit his wares to the ladies of the family with a 
-15 volley of vituperation, couched in what is there called the 
‘ jowring ’° dialect. The pedlar found the means of checking 
this vociferation by slipping a silver groat into her hand, and 
intimating the present of some stuff for a coif, if the lady 
would buy of his wares. 

20 “ God ield thee, for mine is aw in littocks. 0 Slocket with 

thy pack into gharn, mon. Her walks in gharn.” Into the 
•garden she ushered the pedlar accordingly, and pointing to 
:an old ruinous garden-house, said: “ Yonder be s her, mon —■ 
'yonder be’s her. Zhe will buy changes an zhe loikes stuffs.” 
25 “ She has left me to come off as I may,” thought Wayland, 

as he heard the hag shut the garden door behind him. “ But 
they shall not beat me, and they dare not murder me for so 
little trespass, and by this fair twilight. Hang it, I will on 
— a brave general never thought of his retreat till he was 
30 defeated. I see two females in the old garden-house yonder; 
but how to address them? Stay — Will Shakspeare, be my 

242 





KENILWORTH 


24a 


friend in need ! I will give them a taste of Autolycus.” He- 
then sung with a good voice, and becoming audacity, the- 
popular playhouse ditty — 

‘ ‘ Lawn as white as driven snow, 

Cyprus black as e’er was crow, 5 

Gloves as sweet as damask roses, 

Masks for faces and for noses. 0 ” 


“ What hath fortune sent us here for an unwonted sight, 
Janet?” said the lady. 

“ One of those merchants of vanity, called pedlars,” an- 10 
swered Janet, demurely, ‘‘who utters his light wares in 
lighter measures. I marvel old Dorcas let him pass.” 

“ It is a lucky chance, girl,” said the countess; “we lead a 
heavy life here, and this may while off a weary hour.” 

“Ay, my gracious lady,” said Janet; “but my father?” 15 
“He is not my father, Janet, nor, I hope, my master,” 
answered the lady. “I say, call the man hither; I want 
some things.” 

“ Nay,” replied Janet, “your ladyship has but to say so in 
the next packet, and if England can furnish them they will be 20 
sent. There will come mischief on’t. Pray, dearest lady, 
let me bid the man begone! ” 

“ I will have thee bid him come hither,” said the countess ; 

“ or stay, thou terrified fool, I will bid him myself, and spare 
thee a chiding.” 1 25 

“ Ah! well-a-day, dearest lady, if that were the worst, 
said Janet, sadly, while the lady called to the pedlar, “Good 
fellow, step forward — undo thy pack; if thou hast good 
wares, chance has sent thee hither for my convenience and 

th “ What may your ladyship please to lack? ” said Wayland, 
unstrapping his pack, and displaying its contents with 
much dexterity as if he had been bred to the trade. Indeed, 
he had occasionally pursued it in the course of his roving life, 
and now commended his wares with all the volubility of a 35 
trader, and showed some skill in the main art of placing prices 

upon them. ., , , . , 

“ What do I please to lack?” said the lady; why, con¬ 

sidering I have not for six long months bought one yard of 
lawn or cambric, or one trinket, the most inconsiderable, 40 
for my own use, and at my own choice, the better question is, 
what hast thou got to sell ? Lay aside for me that cambric 


244 


KENILWORTH 


partlet and pair of sleeves; and those roundells of gold 
fringe, drawn out with Cyprus; and that short cloak of 
cherry-coloured fine cloth, garnished with gold buttons and 
loops. Is it not of an absolute fancy, Janet?” 

5 “Nay, my lady,” replied Janet, “if you consult my 
poor judgment, it is, methinks, over gaudy for a graceful 
habit.” 

“ Now, out upon thy judgment, if it be no brighter, 
wench,” said the countess; “ thou shalt wear it thyself for 
io penance sake; and I promise thee the gold buttons, being 
somewhat massive, will comfort thy father, and reconcile 
him to the cherry-coloured body. See that he snap them 
not away, Janet, and send them to bear company with the 
imprisoned angels which he keeps captive in his strong-box.” 
15 “May I pray your ladyship to spare my poor father!” 
said Janet. 

“Nay, but why should any one spare him that is so sparing 
of his own nature?” replied the lady. “Well, but to our 
gear. That head garniture for myself, and that silver bod- 
20 kin, mounted with pearl; and take off two gowns of that 
russet cloth for Dorcas and Alison, Janet, to keep the old 
wretches warm against winter comes. And stay, hast thou 
no perfumes and sweet bags, or any handsome casting 
bottles® of the newest mode?” 

25 “Were I a pedlar in earnest, I were a made merchant,” 
thought Wayland, as he busied himself to answer the de¬ 
mands which she thronged one on another, with the eager¬ 
ness of a young lady who has been long secluded from such a 
pleasing occupation. “ But how to bring her to a moment’s 
30 serious reflection?” Then, as he exhibited his choicest col¬ 
lection of essences and perfumes, he at once arrested her at¬ 
tention by observing, that these articles had almost risen 
to double value, since the magnificent preparations made 
by the Earl of Leicester to entertain the Queen and court at 
35 his princely Castle of Kenilworth. 

“ Ha!” said the countess, hastily; “that rumour then is 
true, Janet.” 

“Surely, madam,” answered Wayland; “and I marvel it 
hath not reached your noble ladyship s ears. The Queen of 
40 England feasts with the noble earl for a week during the sum¬ 
mer’s progress; and there are many who will tell you Eng¬ 
land will have a king, and England s Elizabeth — God save 
her! — a husband, ere the progress be over.” 





KENILWORTH 


245 


“They lie like villains !” said the countess, bursting forth 
impatiently. 

“ For God’s sake, madam, consider,” said Janet, trembling 
with apprehension; “who would cumber themselves about 
pedlar’s tidings?” 5 

“Yes, Janet! ” exclaimed the countess; “ right, thou hast 
corrected me justly. Such reports, blighting the reputation 
of England’s brightest and noblest peer, can only find cur¬ 
rency amongst the mean, the abject, and the infamous!” 

“ May I perish, lady,” said Wayland Smith, observing that io 
her violence directed itself towards him, “ if I have done any¬ 
thing to merit this strange passion! I have said but what 
many men say.” 

By this time the countess had recovered her composure, 
and endeavoured, alarmed by the anxious hint of Janet, to 15 
suppress all appearance of displeasure. “I were loth,” she 
said, “good fellow, that our Queen should change the virgin 
style, so dear to us her people — think not of it.” And then, 
as if desirous to change the subject, she added, “ And what 
is this paste, so carefully put up in the silver box?” as she 20 
examined the contents of a casket in which drugs and per¬ 
fumes were contained in separate drawers. 

“ It is a remedy, madam, for a disorder of which I trust 
your ladyship will never have reason to complain. The 
amount of a small Turkey bean, swallowed daily for a week, 25 
fortifies the heart against those black vapours which arise 
from solitude, melancholy, unrequited affection, disap¬ 
pointed hope-” 

“ Are you a fool, friend ? ” said the countess, sharply; or 
do you think, because I have good-naturedly purchased your 30 
trumpery goods at your roguish prices, that you may put any 
gullery you will on me? Who ever heard that affections of 
the heart were cured by medicines given to the body ? ” 

“ Under your honourable favour,” said Wayland, “ I am an 
honest man, and I have sold my goods at an honest price. 35 
As to this most precious medicine, when I told its qualities, I 
asked you not to purchase it, so why should I lie to you? 

I say not it will cure a rooted affection of the mind, which 
only God and time can do; but I say, that this restorative 
relieves the black vapours which are engendered in the body 40 
of that melancholy which broodeth on the mind. I have 
relieved many with it, both in court and city, and of late done 
Master Edmund Tressilian, a worshipful gentleman in Corn- 



246 


KENILWORTH 


wall, who, on some slight, received, it was told me, where he 
had set his affections, was brought into that state of mel¬ 
ancholy which made his friends alarmed for his life.” 

He paused, and the lady remained silent for some time, 

5 and then asked, with a voice which she strove in vain to 
render fipn and indifferent in its tone, “Is the gentleman you 
have mentioned perfectly recovered?” 

“Passably, madam,” answered Wayland: “he hath at 
least no bodily complaint.”' 

io “ I will take some of the medicine, Janet,” said the count¬ 
ess. “I too have sometimes that dark melancholy which 
overclouds the brain.” 

“You shall not do so, madam,” said Janet; “who shall 
answer that this fellow vends what is wholesome?” 

15 “I will myself warrant my good faith,” said Wayland; 
and, taking a part of the medicine, he swallowed it before 
them. The countess now bought what remained, a step to 
which Janet, by farther objections, only determined her the 
more obstinately. She even took the first dose upon the 

20 instant, and professed to feel her heart lightened and her 
spirits augmented — a consequence which, in all probability, 
existed only in her own imagination. The lady then piled the 
purchases she had made together, flung her purse to Janet, 
and desired her to compute the amount and to pay the 

25 pedlar; while she herself, as if tired of the amusement she 
at first found in conversing with him, wished him good even¬ 
ing, and walked carelessly into the house, thus depriving 
Wayland of every opportunity to speak with her in private. 
He hastened, however, to attempt an explanation with 

3° Janet. 

“Maiden,” he said, “thou hast the face of one who should 
love her mistress. She hath much need of faithful service.” 

“ And well deserves it at my hands,” replied Janet; “but 
what of that?” 

35 “ Maiden, I am not altogether what I seem,” said the ped¬ 

lar, lowering his voice. 

“The less like to be an honest man,” said Janet. 

“The more so,” answered Wayland, “since I am no ped¬ 
lar.” 

40 “ Get thee gone then instantly, or I will call for assistance,” 

said Janet; “my father must ere this be returned.” 

“Do not be so rash,” said Wayland; “you will do what 
you may repent of. I am one of your mistress’s friends; 








KENILWORTH 


247 


and she had need of more, not that thou shouldst ruin those 
she hath.” 

“How shall I know that?” said Janet. 

“ Look me in the face,” said Wayland Smith, “and see if 
thou dost not read honesty in my looks.” 5 

And in truth, though by no means handsome, there was in 
his physiognomy the sharp, keen expression of inventive gen¬ 
ius and prompt intellect which, joined to quick and brill¬ 
iant eyes, a well-formed mouth, and an intelligent smile, 
often gives grace and interest to features which are both io 
homely and irregular. Janet looked at him with the sly 
simplicity of her sect, and replied: “Notwithstanding thy 
boasted honesty, friend, and although I am not accustomed 
to read and pass judgment on such volumes as thou hast sub¬ 
mitted to my perusal, I think I see in thy countenance some- 15 
thing of the pedlar — something of the picaroon.” 

“On a small scale, perhaps,” said Wayland Smith, laugh¬ 
ing. “ But this evening, or to-morrow, will an old man come 
hither with thy father, who has the stealthy step of the 
cat, the shrewd and vindictive eye of the rat, the fawning 20 
wile of the spaniel, the determined snatch of the mastiff; of 
him beware, for your own sake and that of your mistress. 
See you, fair Janet, he brings the venom of the aspic under 
the assumed innocence of the dove. What precise mischief 
he meditates towards you I cannot guess; but death and. dis- 25 
ease have ever dogged his footsteps. Say nought of this to 
thy mistress: my art suggests to me that in her state the fear 
of evil may be as dangerous as its operation. But see that 
she take my specific, for (he lowered his voice, and spoke low 
but impressively in her ear) it is an antidote against poison. 30 
Hark, they enter the garden!” . 

In effect, a sound of noisy mirth and loud talking ap¬ 
proached the garden door, alarmed by which, Wayland Smith 
sprung into the midst of a thicket of overgrown shrubs, while 
Janet withdrew to the garden-house that she might not incur 35 
observation, and that she might at the same time conceal, at 
least for the present, the purchases made from the supposed 
pedlar, which lay scattered on the floor of the summer-house. 

Janet, however, had no occasion for anxiety. Her father, 
his old attendant, Lord Leicester’s domestic, and the astrol-40 
oger entered the garden in tumult and in extreme perplexity, 
endeavouring to quiet Lambourne, whose brain had now be¬ 
come completely fired with liquor, and who was one of those 


248 


KENILWORTH 


unfortunate persons who, being once stirred with the vinous 
stimulus, do not fall asleep like other drunkards, but remain 
partially influenced by it for many hours, until at length, by 
successive draughts, they are elevated into a state of uncon- 
5 trollable frenzy. Like many men in this state also, Lam- 
bourne neither lost the power of motion, speech, or expres¬ 
sion; but, on the contrary, spoke with unwonted emphasis 
and readiness, and told all that at another time he would 
have been most desirous to keep secret, 
io “ What 1 ” ejaculated Michael, at the full extent of his 
voice, “ am I to have no welcome — no carouse, when J have 
brought fortune to your old ruinous dog-house in the shape 
of a devil’s ally, that can change slate-shivers into Spanish 
dollars? Here, you Tony Fire-the-Fagot, Papist, Puritan, 
15 hypocrite, miser, profligate, devil, compounded of all men s 
sins, bow down and reverence him who has brought into thy 
house the very mammon thou worshippest! ” 

“ For God’s sake,” said Foster, “ speak low; come into the 
house; thou shalt have wine, or whatever thou wilt.” 

20 “ No, old puckfist, I will have it here,” thundered the in¬ 

ebriated ruffian—“here, al fresco , 0 as the Italian hath it. 
No — no, I will not drink with that poisoning devil within 
doors, to be choked with the fumes' of arsenic and quick¬ 
silver; I learned from villain Varney to beware of that.” 

25 “ Fetch him wine, in the name of all the fiends !” said the 

alchemist. 

“ Aha ! and thou wouldst spice it for me, old Truepenny, 
wouldst thou not? Ay, I should have copperas, and helle¬ 
bore, and vitriol, and aquafortis, and twenty devilish ma- 
30 terials, bubbling in my brain-pan, like a charm to raise the 
devil in a witch’s cauldron. Hand me the flask thyself, old 
Tony Fire-the-Fagot — and let it be cool; I will have no 
wine mulled at the pile of the old burnt bishops. Or stay, 
let Leicester be king if he will — good — and Varney, villain 
35 Varney, grand vizier —• why, excellent! And what shall I 
be, then? Why, emperor, — Emperor Lambourne ! I will 
see this choice piece of beauty that they have walled up 
here for their private pleasures; I will have her this very 
night to serve my wine-cup and put on my nightcap. _ What 
40 should a fellow do with two wives, were he twenty times an 
earl? Answer me that, Tony boy, you old reprobate, 
hypocritical dog, whom God struck out of the book of life, 
but tormented with the constant wish to be restored to it. 








KENILWORTH 


249 


You old bishop-burning, blasphemous fanatic, answer me 
that.” 

“ I will stick my knife to the haft in him,” said Foster, in 
a low tone, which trembled with passion. 

“ For the love of Heaven, no violence !” said the astrologer. 5 
“It cannot but be looked closely into. Here, honest Lam- 
bourne, wilt thou pledge me to the health of the noble Earl of 
Leicester and Master Richard Varney?” 

“ I will, mine old Albumazar — I will, my trusty vender 
of ratsbane. I would kiss thee, mine honest infractor of the 10 
Lex Julia, 0 as they said at Leyden, didst thou not flavour so 
damnably of sulphur and such fiendish apothecaries’ stuff. 
Here goes it, up sey es° — to Varney and Leicester ! Two 
more noble, mounting spirits, and more dark-seeking, deep¬ 
diving, high-flying, malicious, ambitious miscreants — well, 15 
I say no more, but I will whet my dagger on his heart-spone° 
that refuses to pledge me! And so, my masters-” 

Thus speaking, Lambourne exhausted the cup which the 
astrologer had handed to him, and which contained not wine, 
but distilled spirits. He swore half an oath, dropped the 20 
empty cup from his grasp, laid his hand on his sword without 
being able to draw it, reeled, and fell without sense or motion 
into the arms of the domestic, who dragged him off to his 
chamber and put him to bed. 

In the general confusion, Janet regained her lady’s cham- 25 
ber unobserved, trembling like an aspen leaf, but determined 
to keep secret from the countess the dreadful surmises which 
she could not help entertaining from the drunken ravings of 
Lambourne. Her fears, however, though they assumed no 
certain shape, kept pace with the advice of the pedlar; and 30 
she confirmed her mistress in her purpose of taking the 
medicine which he had recommended, from w T hich it is prob¬ 
able she would otherwise have dissuaded her. 

Neither had these intimations escaped the ears of Way- 
land, who knew much better how to interpret them. He felt 35 
much compassion at beholding so lovely a creature as the 
countess, and whom he had first seen in the bosom of do¬ 
mestic happiness, exposed to the machinations of such a gang 
of villains. His indignation, too, had been highly excited by 
hearing the voice of his old master, against whom he felt, in 40 
equal degree, the passions of hatred and fear. He nourished 
also a pride in his own art and resources; and, dangerous as the 
task was, he that night formed a determination to attain the 



250 


KENILWORTH 


bottom of the mystery, and to aid the distressed lady, if it 
were yet possible. From some words which Lambourne had 
dropped among his ravings, Wayland now, for the first time, 
felt inclined to doubt that Varney had acted entirely on his 
S own account in wooing and winning the affections of this 
beautiful' creature. Fame asserted of this zealous retainer 
that he had accommodated his lord in former love intrigues; 
and it occurred to Wayland Smith that Leicester himself 
might be the party chiefly interested. Her marriage with the 
ioearl he could not suspect; but even the discovery of such a 
passing intrigue with a lady of Mistress Amy Robsart’s rank 
was a secret of the deepest importance to the stability of 
the f avourite’s power over Elizabeth. “ If Leicester himself 
should hesitate to stifle such a rumour by very strange 
15 means,” said he to himself, “ he has those about him who 
would do him that favour without waiting for his consent. 
If I would meddle in this business, it must be in such guise 
as my old master uses when he compounds his manna of 
Satan, 0 and that is with a close mask on my face. So I will 
20 quit Giles Gosling to-morrow, and change my course and 
place of residence as often as a hunted fox. I should like 
to see this little Puritan, too, once more. She looks both 
pretty and intelligent, to have come of such a caitiff as 
Anthony Fire-the-Fagot.” 

25 Giles Gosling received the adieus of Wayland rather joy¬ 
fully than otherwise. The honest publican saw so much 
peril in crossing the course of the Earl of Leicester’s favourite, 
that his virtue was scarce able to support him in the task, and 
he was well pleased when it was likely to be removed from 
30 his shoulders; still, however, professing his good-will and 
readiness, in case of need, to do Master Tressilian or his 
emissary any service, in so far as consisted with his char¬ 
acter of a publican. 








CHAPTER XXI 


Vaulting ambition, that o’erleaps itself, 
And falls on t’other side. 

Macbeth. 


15 


The splendour of the approaching revels at Kenilworth 
was now the conversation through all England; and every¬ 
thing was collected at home or from abroad which could add 
to the gaiety or glory of the prepared reception of Elizabeth 
at the house of her most distinguished favourite. Mean- 5 
while Leicester appeared daily to advance in the Queen s 
favour. He was perpetually by her side in council, willingly 
listened to in the moments of courtly recreation, favoured 
with approaches even to familiar intimacy, looked up to by 
all who had aught to hope at court, courted by foreign 10 
ministers with the most flattering testimonies of respect from 
their sovereigns — the alter ego,° as it seemed, of the stately 
Elizabeth, who was now very generally supposed to be study¬ 
ing the time and opportunity for associating him, by mar¬ 
riage, into her sovereign power. 

Amid such a tide of prosperity, this minion of fortune and 
of the Queen’s favour was probably the most unhappy man m 
the realm which seemed at his devotion. He had the b airy 
King’s superiority over his friends and dependants, and saw 
much which they could not. The character of his mistress 20 
was intimately known to him: it was his minute and studied 
acquaintance with her humours, as well as her noble faculties, 
which, joined to his powerful mental qualities and his emi¬ 
nent external accomplishments, had raised him so high in her 
favour • and it was that very knowledge of her disposition 25 
which led him to apprehend at every turn some sudden and 
overwhelming disgrace. Leicester was like a pilot pos¬ 
sessed of a chart, which points out to him all the peculiari¬ 
ties of his navigation, but which exhibits so many shoals, 
breakers, and reefs of rocks that his anxious eye reaps little 30 
more from observing them than to be convinced that his 
final escape can be little else than miraculous. 

251 



252 


KENILWORTH 


In fact, Queen Elizabeth had a character strangely com¬ 
pounded of the strongest masculine sense with those foibles 
which are chiefly supposed proper to the female sex. Her 
subjects had the full benefit of her virtues, which far pre- 
5 dominated over her weaknesses; but the courtiers and those 
about her person had often to sustain sudden and embar¬ 
rassing turns of caprice and the sallies of a temper which was 
both jealous and despotic. She was the nursing-mother of 
her people, but she was also the true daughter of Henry 
io VIII.; and though early sufferings and an excellent educa¬ 
tion had repressed and modified, they had not altogether 
destroyed, the hereditary temper of that “ hard-ruled king.” 
“Her mind,” says her witty godson, Sir John Harrington, 0 
who had experienced both the smiles and the frowns which 
15 he describes, “was ofttime like the gentle air, that cometh 
from the westerly point in a summer’s morn: ’twas sweet 
and refreshing to all around her. Her speech did win all 
affections. . . . Again, she could put forth such alterations, 
when obedience was lacking, as left no doubtings whose 
20 daughter she was. . . . When she smiled, it was a pure 
sunshine, that every one did choose to bask in, if they 
could; but anon came a storm, from a sudden gathering of 
clouds, and the thunder fell in wondrous manner on all 
alike.” 

25 This variability of disposition, as Leicester well knew, was 
chiefly formidable to those who had a share in the Queen’s 
affections, and who depended rather on her personal regard 
than on the indispensable services which they could render to 
her councils &nd her crown. The favour of Burleigh or of 
30 Walsingham, of a description far less striking than that by 
which he was himself upheld, was founded, as Leicester was 
well aware, on Elizabeth’s solid judgment, not on her partial¬ 
ity; and was, therefore, free from all those principles of 
change and decay necessarily incident to that which chiefly 
35 arose from personal accomplishments and female predilec¬ 
tion. These great and sage statesmen were judged of by the 
Queen only with reference to the measures they suggested, 
and the reasons by which they supported their opinions in 
council; whereas the success of Leicester’s course depended 
40 on all those light and changeable gales of caprice and humour 
which thwart or favour the progress of a lover in the favour 
of his mistress, and she, too, a mistress who was ever and 
anon becoming fearful lest she should forget the dignity, or 











KENILWORTH 


253 


compromise the authority, of the queen while she indulged 
the affections of the woman. Of the difficulties which sur¬ 
rounded his power, “ too great to keep or to resign/’ Leicester 
was fully sensible; and, as he looked anxiously round for the 
means of maintaining himself in his precarious situation, and 5 
sometimes contemplated those of descending from it in 
safety, he saw but little hope of either. At such moments, 
his thoughts turned to dwell upon his secret marriage and 
its consequences; and it was in bitterness against himself, if 
not against his unfortunate countess, that he ascribed to that io 
hasty measure, adopted in the ardour of what he now called 
inconsiderate passion, at once the impossibility of placing 
his power oiwa solid basis and the immediate prospect of its 
precipitate jfownf all. 

“ Men say,” thus ran his thoughts, in these anxious and 15 
repentant moments, “that I might marry Elizabeth, and be¬ 
come King of England. All things suggest this. The match 
is carolled in ballads, while the rabble throw their caps up. 

It has been touched upon in the schools — whispered in 
the presence-chamber — recommended from the pulpit — 20 
prayed for in the Calvinistic churches abroad — touched on 
by statists in the very council at home. These bold insinu¬ 
ations have been rebutted by no rebuke, no resentment, no 
chiding, scarce even by the usual female protestation that she 
would live and die a virgin princess. Her words have been 25 
more courteous than ever, though she knows such rumours 
are abroad — her actions more gracious — her looks more 
kind: naught seems wanting to make me King of England, 
and place me beyond the storms of court favour, excepting 
the putting forth of mine own hand to take that crown im- 3° 
perial which is the glory of the universe ! And when I might 
stretch that hand out most boldly, it is fettered down by a 
secret and inextricable bond ! And here I have letters from 
Amy ” he would say, catching them up with a movement of 
peevishness, “ persecuting me to acknowledge her openly — 35 
to do justice to her and to myself — and I wot not what. 
Methinks I have done less than justice to myself already. 
And she speaks as if Elizabeth were to receive the knowledge 
of this matter with the glee of a mother hearing of the happy 
marriage of a hopeful son! She, the daughter of Henry, 40 
who spared neither man in his anger nor woman in his desire 
— she to find herself tricked, drawn on with toys of pas¬ 
sion to the verge of acknowledging her love to a subject, and 




254 


KENILWORTH 


he discovered to be a married man ! Elizabeth to learn that 
she had been dallied with in such fashion, as a gay courtier 
might trifle with a country wench. We should then see to 
our ruin f urens quid faemina ! ° ” 

5 He would then pause, and call for Varney, whose advice 
was now more frequently resorted to than ever, because the 
earl remembered the remonstrances which he had made 
against his secret contract. And their consultation usually 
terminated in anxious deliberation how, or in what manner, 
10 the countess was to be produced at Kenilworth. These 
communings had for some time ever ended in a resolution to 
delay the progress from day to day. But at length a per¬ 
emptory decision became necessary. 

“ Elizabeth will not be satisfied without her presence,” 
15 said the earl; “ whether any suspicion hath entered her mind, 
as my own apprehensions suggest, or whether the petition of 
Tressilian is kept in her memory by Sussex or some other 
secret enemy, I know not; but amongst all the favourable 
expressions which she uses to me, she often recurs to the 
20 story of Amy Robsart. I think that Amy is the slave in the 
chariot, who is placed there by my evil fortune to dash and to 
confound my triumph, even when at the highest. Show me 
thy device, Varney, for solving the inextricable difficulty. 
I have thrown every such impediment in the way of these 
25 accursed revels as I could propound even with a shade of de¬ 
cency, but to-day’s interview has put all to a hazard. She 
said to me kindly but peremptorily: ‘We will give you no 
farther time for preparations, my lord, lest you should alto¬ 
gether ruin yourself. On Saturday, the 9 th of July, we will 
30 be with you at Kenilworth. We pray you to forget none of 
our appointed guests and suitors, and in especial this light 
o’ love, Amy Robsart. We would wish to see the woman 
who could postpone yonder poetical gentleman, Master 
Tressilian, to your man, Richard Varney.’ Now, Varney, 
35 ply thine invention, whose forge hath availed us so often; 
for sure as my name is Dudley, the danger menaced by my 
horoscope is now darkening around me.” 

“Can my lady be by no means persuaded to bear for a 
brief space the obscure character which circumstances im- 
40 pose on her?” said Varney, after some hesitation. 

“ How, sirrah! my countess term herself thy wife! that 
may neither stand with my honour nor with hers.” 

“ Alas ! my lord,” answered Varney, “and yet such is the 





KENILWORTH 


255 


i5 


quality in which Elizabeth now holds her; and to contradict 
this opinion is to discover all.” 

“ Think of something else, Varney,” said the earl, in great 
agitation; “ this invention is naught. If I could give way to 
it, she would not; for I tell thee, Varney, if thou know’st it 5 
not, that not Elizabeth on the throne has more pride than the 
daughter of this obscure gentleman of Devon. She is flex¬ 
ible in many things, but where she holds her honour brought 
in question she hath a spirit and temper as apprehensive as 
lightning, and as swift in execution.” 10 

“ We have experienced that, my lord, else had we not been 
thus circumstanced,” said Varney. “ But what else to sug¬ 
gest I know not. Methinks she whose good fortune in be¬ 
coming your lordship’s bride gives rise to the danger should 
do somewhat towards parrying it.” 

“It is impossible,” said the earl, waving his hand: “I 
know neither authority nor entreaties would make her en¬ 
dure thy name for an hour.” 

“ It is somewhat hard, though,” said Varney, in a dry tone; 
and, without pausing on that topic, he added: “Suppose 20 
some one were found to represent her ? Such feats have been 
performed in the courts of as sharp-eyed monarchs as Queen 
Elizabeth.” 

“Utter madness, Varney,” answered the earl; the coun¬ 
terfeit would be confronted with Tressilian, and discovery 25 
become inevitable.” 

“Tressilian might be removed from court, said the un¬ 
hesitating Varney. 

“ And by what means ? ” 

« There are many,” said Varney, “by which a statesman m 30 
your situation, my lord, may remove from the scene one who 
pries into your affairs, and places himself in perilous op¬ 
position to you.” „ ., ,, , 

“Speak not to me of such policy, Varney, said the earl, 
hastily; “which, besides, would avail nothing in the present 35 
case. Many others there be at court to whom Amy may be 
known- and besides, on the absence of Tressilian, her father 
or some of her friends would be instantly summoned hither. 
Urge thine invention once more.” 

“My lord, I know not what to say,” answered Varney; 40 
“but were I myself in such perplexity, I would ride post 
down to Cumnor Place and compel my wife to give her con¬ 
sent to such measures as her safety and mine required. 






256 


KENILWORTH 


“Varney,” said Leicester, “I cannot urge her to aught so 
repugnant to her noble nature as a share in this stratagem: 
it would be a base requital for the love she bears me.” 

“ Well, my lord,” said Varney, “ your lordship is a wise and 
5 an honourable man, and skilled in those high points of ro¬ 
mantic scruple which are current in Arcadia, 0 perhaps, as 
your nephew, Philip Sidney, writes. I am your humble ser¬ 
vitor a man of this world, and only happy that my 
knowledge of it and its ways is such as your lordship has not 
io scorned to avail yourself of. Now I would fain know 
whether the obligation lies on my lady or on you in this for¬ 
tunate union; and which has most reason to show com¬ 
plaisance to the other, and to consider that other's wishes, 
conveniences, and safety?” 

15 “I tell thee, Varney,” said the earl, “that all it was in mv 

power to bestow upon her was not merely deserved, but a 
thousand times overpaid, by her own virtue and beauty; for 
never did greatness descend upon a creature so formed by 
nature to grace and adorn it.” 

20 “It is well, my lord, you are so satisfied,” answered Var¬ 
ney, with his usual sardonic smile, which even respect to his 
patron could not at all times subdue; “you will have time 
enough to enjoy undisturbed the society of one so gracious 
and beautiful that is, so soon as such confinement in the 
25 Tower be over as may correspond to the crime of deceiving 
the affections of Elizabeth Tudor. A cheaper penalty I 
presume, you do not expect?” 

“ Malicious fiend ! ” answered Leicester, “ do you mock me 
in my misfortune? Manage it as thou wilt.” 

30 , “J *. you are ser * ous > m Y lord,” said Varney, “you must set 
forth instantly and post for Cumnor Place.” 

Do thou go thyself, Varney: the devil has given thee 
that sort of eloquence which is most powerful in the worst 
cause. I should stand self-convicted of villainy were I to 
35 urge such a deceit. Begone, I tell thee. Must I entreat thee 
to mine own dishonour!” 

No, my lord,” said Varney; “but, if you are serious in 
entrusting me with the task of urging this most necessary 
measure, you must give me a letter to my lady as my creden- 
40 tials, and trust to me for backing the advice it contains with 
all the force in my power. And such is my opinion of my 
lady s love for your lordship, and of her willingness to do 
that which is at once to contribute to your pleasure and your 







KENILWORTH 


257 


safety, that I am sure she will condescend to bear, for a few 
brief days, the name of so humble a man as myself, especially 
since it is not inferior in antiquity to that of her own paternal 
house.” 

Leicester seized on writing-materials, and twice or thrice 5 
commenced a letter *to the countess, which he afterwards tore 
into fragments. At length he finished a few distracted lines, 
in which he conjured her, for reasons nearly concerning his 
life and honour, to consent to bear the name of Varney for a 
few days, during the revels at Kenilworth. He added, that 10 
Varnev would communicate all the reasons which rendered 
this deception indispensable; and having signed and sealed 
these credentials, he flung them over the table to Varney, 
with a motion that he should depart, which his adviser was 
not slow to comprehend and to obey. 15 

Leicester remained like one stupefied, till he heard the tram¬ 
pling of the horses, as Varney, who took no time even to 
change his dress, threw himself into the saddle, and, followed 
by a single servant, set off for Berkshire. At the sound, the 
earl started from his seat and ran to the window, with the 20 
momentary purpose of recalling the unworthy commission 
with which he had entrusted one of whom he used to say, he 
knew no virtuous property save affection to his patron. 
But Varney was already beyond call; and the bright starry 
firmament, which the age considered as the Book of Fate, 25 
lying spread before Leicester when he opened the casement, 
diverted him from his better and more manly purpose. 

“ There they roll, on their silent but potential course, 
said the earl, looking around him, “without a voice which 
speaks to our ear, but not without influences which affect, 30 
at every change, the indwellers of this vile earthly planet. 
This, if astrologers fable not, is the very crisis of my fate! 
The hour approaches of which I was taught to beware 
the hour, too, which I was encouraged to hope for. A king 
was the word — but how? The crown matrimonial — 35 
all hopes of that are gone; let them go. The rich Nether¬ 
lands have demanded me for their leader, and, would Eliza¬ 
beth consent, would yield to me their crown. And have 1 
not such a claim, even in this kingdom? That of York, 
descending from George of Clarence to the house of Hunting- 40 
don, which, this lady failing, may have a fair chance — 
Huntingdon is of my house. But I will plunge no deeper in 
these high mysteries. Let me hold my course in silence for 

s 






258 


KENILWORTH 


a while, and in obscurity, like a subterranean river: the 
time shall come that I will burst forth in my strength, and 
bear all opposition before me.” 

While Leicester was thus stupefying the remonstrances of 
S his own conscience by appealing to political necessity for his 
apology, or losing himself amidst the wild dreams of ambi¬ 
tion, his agent left town and tower behind him, on his hasty 
journey to Berkshire. He also nourished high hope. He 
had brought Lord Leicester to the point which he had 
io desired, of committing to him the most intimate recesses 
of his breast, and of using him as the channel of his most 
confidential intercourse with his lady. Henceforward it 
would, he foresaw, be difficult for his patron either to dis¬ 
pense with his services or refuse his requests, however 
iS unreasonable. And if this disdainful dame, as he termed 
the countess, should comply with the request of her husband, 
Varney her pretended husband must needs become so 
situated. with respect to her that there was no knowing 
where his audacity might be bounded; perhaps not till 
20 circumstances enabled him to obtain a triumph which he 
thought of with a mixture of fiendish feelings, in which 
revenge for her previous scorn was foremost and predomi¬ 
nant. Again he contemplated the possibility of her being 
totally intractable, and refusing obstinately to play the 
25 part assigned to her in the drama at Kenilworth. 

“ Alasco must then do his part,” he said. “Sickness 
must serve her Majesty as an excuse for not receiving the 
homage of Mrs. Varney — ay, and a sore and a wasting 
sickness it may prove, should Elizabeth continue to cast so 
30 favourable an eye on my Lord of Leicester. I will not forgo 
the chance of being favourite of a monarch for want of 
determined measures, should these be necessary. Forward, 
good horse — forward: ambition, and haughty hope of 
power, pleasure, and revenge, strike their stings as deep 
35 through my bosom as I plunge the rowels in thy flanks. 
On, good horse — on: the devil urges us both forward.” 


CHAPTER XXII 


Say that my beauty was but small, 

Among court ladies all despised, 

Why didst thou rend it from that hall, 

Where, scornful earl, ’twas dearly prized? 

No more thou corn’s# with wonted speed, 

Thy once beloved bride to see; 

But be she alive, or be she dead, 

I fear, stern earl, ’s the same to thee. 

Cumnor Hall , by William Julius Mickle. 


The ladies of fashion of the present, or of any other, 
period must have allowed that the young and lovely Count¬ 
ess of Leicester had, besides her youth and beauty, two 
Qualities which entitled her to a place amongst women ol 
rank and distinction. She displayed, as we have seen m her 5 
interview with the pedlar, a liberal promptitude to make 
unnecessary purchases, solely for the pleasure of acquiring 
useless and showy trifles, which ceased to please as soon 
as they were possessed; and she was, besides, apt to spend 
a considerable space of time every day m adorning her n 
person, although the varied splendour of her attire could only 
attract the half-satirical praise of the precise Janet or an 
approving glance from the bright eyes which witnessed their 
own beams of triumph reflected from the mirror. 

The Countess Amy had, indeed, to plead f ? r + P ld ^. 1 S enc ® ™ 
those frivolous tastes, that the education of the times had 
done little or nothing for a mind naturally gay and averse to 
study. If she had not loved to collect finery and to wear it, 
she might have woven tapestry or sewed embroidery, till her 
labours spread in gay confusion all over the walls and seats 
at Lidcote Hall; or she might have varied Minerva s 
labours with the task of preparing a mighty P uddin §' 
the time that Sir Hugh Robsart returned from the green¬ 
wood. But Amy had no natural genius either for the loom, 
the needle, or the receipt-book. Her mother had died in 
[Amy’s] infancy; her father contradicted her m nothing; 

259 





260 


KENILWORTH 


and Tressilian, the only one that approached her who was 
able or desirous to attend to the cultivation of her mind, 
had much hurt his interest with her by assuming too eagerly 
the task of a preceptor; so that he was regarded by the 
5 lively, indulged, and idle girl with some fear and much 
respect, but with little or nothing of that softer emotion 
which it had been his hope and his ambition to inspire. 
And thus her heart lay readily open, and her fancy became 
easily captivated by the noble exterior and graceful deport-* 
io ment and complacent flattery of Leicester, even before he 
was known to her as the dazzling minion of wealth and 
power. 

The frequent visits of Leicester at Cumnor during the 
earlier part of their union had reconciled the countess to the 
15 solitude and privacy to which she was condemned; but when 
these visits became rarer and more rare, and when the void 
was filled up with letters of excuse, not always very warmly 
expressed, and generally extremely brief, discontent and 
suspicion began to haunt those splendid apartments which 
20 love had fitted up for beauty. Her answers to Leicester 
conveyed these feelipgs too bluntly, and pressed more 
naturally than prudently that she might be relieved from 
this obscure and secluded residence by the earl’s acknow¬ 
ledgment of their marriage; and in arranging her arguments, 
25 with all the skill she was mistress of, she trusted chiefly to 
the warmth of the entreaties with which she urged them. 
Sometimes she even ventured to mingle reproaches, of which 
Leicester conceived he had good reason to complain. 

“I have made her countess,” he said to Varney; “surely 
30 she might wait till it consisted with my pleasure that she 
should put on the coronet?” 

The Countess Amy viewed the subject in directly an oppo¬ 
site light. 

“ What signifies,” she said, “that I have rank and honour 
.35 in reality, if I am to live an obscure prisoner, without either 
society or observance, and suffering in my character as one 
of dubious or disgraced reputation ? I care not for all those 
strings of pearl which you fret me by warping into my 
tresses, Janet. I tell you that, at Lidcote Hall, if I put but a 
40 fresh rosebud among my hair, my good father would call me 
to him that he might see it more closely; and the kind old 
curate would smile, and Master Mumblazen would say 
something about roses gules; and now I sit here, decked out 




KENILWORTH 


261 


like an image with gold and gems, and no one to see my 
finery but you, Janet. There was the poor Tressilian, too; 
but it avails not speaking of him.” x , 

“ It doth not indeed, madam,” said her prudent attend¬ 
ant; “and verily you make me sometimes wish you would 5 

not speak of him so often or so rashly.” . 

“It signifies nothing to warn me, Janet, said the impa¬ 
tient and incorrigible countess; “I was born free, though I 
am now mewed up like some fine foreign slave, rather than 
the wife of an English noble. I bore it all with pleasure 10 
while I was sure he loved me; but now my tongue and heart 
shall be free, let them fetter these limbs as they will. 1 tell 
thee, Janet, I love my husband — I will love him till my 
latest breath — I cannot cease to love him, even if 1 would, 
or ^ he — which, God knows, may chance — should cease 15 
to love me. But I will say, and loudly, I would have been 
happier than I now am to have remained m Lidcote Hail; 
even although I must have married poor Tressilian, with his 
melancholy look, and his head full of learning, which I 
cared not for. He said, if I would read his favourite 20 
volumes, there would come a time that I should be glad of 
having done so. I think it is come now. 

“I bought you some books, madam, said Janet, frorn a 
lame fellow who sold them in the market-place, and who 
stared something boldly at me, I promise you. . , 

“Let me see them, Janet,” said the countess, but let 

them not be of your own precise cast How ls JJis, most 
righteous damsel? A Pair of Snuffers for the Golden 
Candlestick —A Handful of Myrrh and Hyssop to puta 
Sick Soul to Purgation—A Draught of Water from the 3 
Valley of Baca — Foxes and Firebrands. What gear call 

y °“Nay’ madam!” said Janet, “it was but fitting and 
seemly to put grace in your ladyship’s way; but an you 
will none of it, there are play-books and poet-books, I trow^ 35 
The countess proceeded carelessly in her examination, 
turning over such rare volumes as would now make the 
fortune of twenty retail booksellers. Here was a Boke 
of Cookery imprinted by Richard Lant, and Skeleton s 
°Lok 7 - The PlslZe o/the People- The Castle of Know- 40 
ledae etc But neither to this lore did the countess s heart 
incline, and joyfully did she start up from the listless task 
of turning over the leaves of the pamphlets, and hastily 





KENILWORTH 


262 


did she scatter them through the floor, when the rapid 
clatter of horses’ feet, heard in the courtyard, called her to 
the window, exclaiming, “ It is Leicester ! — it is my noble 
earl! — it is my Dudley! Every stroke of his horse’s 
5 hoof sounds like a note of lordly music ! ” 

There was a brief bustle in the mansion, and Foster, with 
his downward look and sullen manner, entered the apart¬ 
ment to say, “ That Master Richard Varney was arrived from 
my lord, having ridden all night, and craved to speak witK* 
i° her ladyship instantly.” 

“Varney!” said the disappointed countess; “and to 
speak with me ! — pshaw ! But he comes with news from 
Leicester, so admit him instantly.” 

Varney entered her dressing-apartment, where she sat 
15 arrayed in her native loveliness, adorned with all that 
Janet’s art, and a rich and tasteful undress, could bestow. 
But the most beautiful part of her attire was her profuse 
and luxuriant light-brown locks, which floated in such 
rich abundance around a neck that resembled a swan’s, 
20 and over a bosom heaving with anxious expectation, which 
communicated a hurried tinge of red to her whole coun¬ 
tenance. 

Varney entered the room in the dress in which he had 
waited on his master that morning to court, the splendour of 
25 which made a strange contrast with the disorder arising 
from hasty riding during a dark night and foul ways. His 
brow bore an anxious and hurried expression, as one who 
has that to say of which he doubts the reception, and who 
hath yet posted on from the necessity of communicating 
30 his tidings. The countess’s anxious eye at once caught 
the alarm as she exclaimed, “You bring news from my 
lord, Master Varney? Gracious Heaven! is he ill?” 

“No, madam, thank Heaven!” said Varney. “Compose 
yourself, and permit me to take breath ere I communicate 
35 my tidings.” 

“No breath, sir,” replied the lady, impatiently; “I 
know your theatrical arts. Since your breath hath sufficed 
to bring you hither, it may suffice to tell your tale, at least 
briefly, and in the gross. 0 ” 

40 “Madam,” answered Varney, “we are not alone, and my 
lord’s message was for your ear only.” 

“Leave us, Janet, and Master Foster,” said the lady; 
“but remain in the next apartment, and within call.” 







KENILWORTH 


263 


Foster and his daughter retired, agreeably to the Lady 
Leicester’s commands, into the next apartment, which was 
the withdrawing-room. The door which led from the sleep¬ 
ing-chamber was then carefully shut and bolted, and the 
father and daughter remained both in a posture of anxious 5 
attention, the first with a stern, suspicious, lowering cast of 
countenance, and Janet with folded hands, and looks which 
seemed divided betwixt her desire to know the fortunes of 
her mistress and her prayers to Heaven for her safety. 
Anthony Foster seemed himself to have some idea of what io 
was passing through his daughter’s mind, for he crossed the 
apartment and took her anxiously by the hand, saying, 
“That is right: pray, Janet — pray; we have all need of 
prayers, and some of us more than others. Pray, Janet ; I 
would pray myself, but I must listen to what goes on within: 15 
evil has been brewing, love — evil has been brewing. God 
forgive our sins; but Varney’s sudden and strange arrival 
bodes us no good.” 

Janet had never before heard her father excite or even per¬ 
mit her attention to anything which passed in their myste- 20 
rious family, and now that he did so, his voice sounded in 
her ear — she knew not why — like that of a screech-owl 
denouncing some deed of terror and of woe. She turned 
her eyes fearfully towards the door, almost as if she expected 
some sounds of horror to be heard, or some sight of fear to 25 

display itself. , , . . ,, 

All, however, was as still as death, and the voices of those 
who spoke in the inner chamber were, if they spoke at all, 
carefully subdued to a tone which could not be heard m the 
next. At once, however, they were heard to speak fast, 3 ° 
thick, and hastily; and presently after the voice of the 
countess was heard exclaiming, at the highest pitch to which 
indignation could raise it, “ Undo the door, sir, I command 
you ! Undo the door ! I will have no other reply ! she 
continued, drowning with her vehement accents the low 35 
and muttered sounds which Varney was heard to utter 
betwixt whiles. “ What ho ! without there ! she persisted, 
accompanying her words with shrieks, “ Janet, alarm the 
house. Foster, break open the door. I am detained here 
by a traitor. Use axe and lever, Master Foster I will 4° 

be your warrant.” ,, 

“ It shall not need, madam,” Varney was at length dis¬ 
tinctly heard to say. “ If you please to expose my lord s 




264 


KENILWORTH 


important concerns and your own to the general ear, I will 
not be your hinderance.” 

The door was unlocked and thrown open, and Janet and 
her father rushed in, anxious to learn the cause of these 
5 reiterated exclamations. 

When they entered the apartment, Varney stood by the 
door grinding his teeth, with an expression in which rage, 
and shame, and fear, had each their share. The countess 
stood in the midst of her apartment like a juvenile pythoneSfe 
io under the influence of the prophetic fury. The veins in 
her beautiful forehead started into swoln blue lines through 
the hurried impulse of her articulation, her cheek and neck 
glowed like scarlet, her eyes were like those of an imprisoned 
eagle, flashing red lightning on the foes whom it cannot 
15 reach with its talons. Were it possible for one of the Graces 0 
to have been animated by a Fury, the countenance could not 
have united such beauty with so much hatred, scorn, 
defiance, and resentment. The gesture and attitude cor¬ 
responded with the voice and looks, and altogether pre- 
20 sented a spectacle which was at once beautiful and fearful; 
so much of the sublime had the energy of passion united 
with the Countess Amy’s natural loveliness. Janet, as soon 
as the door was open, ran to her mistress; and more slowly, 
yet with more haste than he was wont, Anthony Foster 
25 went to Richard Varney. 

“ In the Truth’s name, what ails your ladyship?” said the 
former. 

“ What, in the name of Satan, have you done to her ? ” said 
Foster to his friend. 

30 “ Who, I ? — nothing,” answered Varney, but with sunken 

head and sullen voice — “ nothing but communicated to her 
her lord’s commands, which, if the lady list not to obey, she 
knows better how to answer it than I may pretend to do.” 

“ Now, by Heaven, Janet,” said the countess, “the false 
35 traitor lies in his throat! He must needs lie, for he speaks 
to the dishonour of my noble lord; he must needs lie doubly, 
for he speaks to gain ends of his own, equally execrable and 
unattainable.” 

“You have misapprehended me, lady,” said Varney, with 
40 a sulky species of submission and apology; “ let this matter 
rest till your passion be abated, and I will explain all.” 

“Thou shalt never have an opportunity to do so,” said the 
countess. “ Look at him, Janet. He is fairly dressed, hath 



KENILWORTH 


265 


the outside of a gentleman, and hither he came to persuade 
me it was my lord’s pleasure —nay, more, my wedded lord s 
commands — that I should go with him to Kenilworth, and 
before the Queen and nobles, and in presence of my own 
wedded lord, that I should acknowledge him — him there, 5 
that very cloak-brushing, shoe-cleaning fellow — him there, 
my lord’s lackey, for my liege lord and husband; furnishing 
against myself, great God ! whenever I was to vindicate my 
right and my rank, such weapons as would hew my just 
claim from the root, and destroy my character to be regarded 10 
as an honourable matron of the English nobility ! 

“ You hear her, Foster, and you, young maiden, hear this 
lady ” answered Varney, taking advantage of the pause 
which the countess had made in her charge, more for lack 
of breath than for lack of matter — “you hear that her heat 15 
only obiects to me the course which our good lord, tor the 
J i__sncrp-psts m the very 


only ODiectS to me tiie »-- . 

purpose to keep certain matters secret, suggests in the very 
letter which she holds in her hands. 


bter whicn sne noius m nei , ,, 

Foster here attempted to interfere with a face of authority, 
which he thought became the charge intrusted to him. 20 
“ Nav, lady, I must needs say you are over hasty m this 
Such deceit is not utterly to be condemned when practised 
for a righteous end; and thus even the patriarch Abraham 

feigned Sarah to be his sister 0 when they went down to Egypt 

“ Av sir ” answered the countess; but God rebuked that 25 
deceit even in the father of His chosen people, by the mouth 
of the heathen Pharaoh. Out upon you, that will read Scrip 
ture only to copy those things which are held out to us as 

warnings, not as examples! . , ., . , n 

“ But Sarah disputed not the will of her husband, an it be 3 
your pleasure,” said Foster, in reply; “but did as Abraham 
commanded, calling herself his smter, that it might be weU 
with her husband for her sake, and that his soul might live 

bC “Now^o^Heavei 1 pardon me my useless anger,” answered 35 
the countess, “thou art as daring a hypocrite as yonder fel¬ 
low is an impudent deceiver ! Never will I believe that the 
noble Dudley gave countenance to so dastardly, so dishon¬ 
ourable a plan. Thus I tread on his infamy, if indeed it be, 
and thus destroy its remembrance for ever ! 4 

So saying, she tore in pieces Leicester’s letter and stamped 
in the Extremity of impatience, as if she would have anmhi- 
lated the minute fragments into which she had rent it. 






266 


KENILWORTH 


Bear witness,” said Varney, collecting himself, “she 
hath torn my lord’s letter, in order to burden me with the 
scheme of his devising; and although it promises nought but 
danger and trouble to me, she would lay it to my charge, as 
5 if I had any purpose of mine own in it.” 

“ Thou liest, thou treacherous slave ! ” said the countess, in 
spite of Janet’s attempts to keep her silent, in the sad fore¬ 
sight that her vehemence might only furnish arms against 
herself. “Thou liest!” she continued. “Let me go, Janet 
io Were it the last word I have to speak, he lies: he had his 
own foul ends to seek; and broader he would have displayed 
them, had my passion permitted me to preserve the silence 
which at first encouraged him to unfold his vile pro¬ 
jects.” ^ 

15 “Madam,” said Varney, overwhelmed in spite of his ef- 
frontery, “I entreat you to believe yourself mistaken.” 

“As soon will I believe light darkness,” said the enraged 
countess. Have I drank of oblivion? Do I not remember 
former passages, which, known to Leicester, had given thee 
20 the preferment of a gallows instead of the honour of his inti¬ 
macy ? I would I were a man but for five minutes ! It were 
space enough to makb a craven like thee confess his villainy 
But go — begone! Tell thy master that, when I take the 
foul course to which such scandalous deceits as thou hast 
25 recommended on his behalf must necessarily lead me, I will 
give him a rival something worthy of the name. He shall 
not be supplanted by an ignominious lackey, whose best 
fortune is to catch a gift of his master’s last suit of clothes 
ere it is threadbare, and who is only fit to seduce a suburb 
30 wench by the bravery of new roses in his master’s old pan- 
toufles. Go — begone, sir; I scorn thee so much that I am 
ashamed to have been angry with thee.” 

Varney left the room with a mute expression of rage, and 
was followed by Foster, whose apprehension, naturally slow 
35 was overpowered by the eager and abundant discharge of in¬ 
dignation which, for the first time, he had heard burst from 
the lips of a being who had seemed till that moment too lan¬ 
guid and too gentle to nurse an angry thought or utter an 
intemperate expression. Foster, therefore, pursued Varney 
40 from place to place, persecuting him with interrogatories to 
which the other replied not until they were in the opposite 
side of the quadrangle, and in the old library, with which the 
reader has already been made acquainted. Here he turned 


KENIL WORTH 


267 


round on his persevering follower, and thus addressed him, 
in a tone tolerably equal; that brief walk having been suf¬ 
ficient to give one so habituated to command his temper time 
to rally and recover his presence of mind. 

“Tony,” he said, with his usual sneering laugh, “it avails5 
not to deny it — the woman and the devil, who, as thine 
oracle Holdforth will confirm to thee, cheated man at the 
beginning, have this day proved more powerful than my 
discretion. Yon termagant looked so tempting, and had the 
art to preserve her countenance so naturally, while I com- 10 
municated my lord’s message, that, by my faith, I thought 
I might say some little thing for myself. She thinks she 
hath my head under her girdle now, but she is deceived. 
Where is Doctor Alasco?” 

“ In his laboratory,” answered Foster; “ it is the hour he is 15 
not spoken withal; we must wait till noon is past, or spoil his 

important- What said I, important? I would say, 

interrupt his divine studies.” 

“ Ay, he studies the devil’s divinity,” said Yarney; “but 
when I want him one hour must suffice as well as another. 20 
Lead the way to his pandemonium.” 

So spoke Varney, and with hasty and perturbed steps fol¬ 
lowed Foster, who conducted him through private passages, 
many of which were wellnigh ruinous, to the opposite side of 
the quadrangle, where, in a subterranean apartment, now oc- 25 
cupied by the chemist Alasco, one of the abbots of Abing¬ 
don, who had a turn for the occult sciences, had, much to the 
scandal of his convent, established a laboratory, in which, 
like other fools of the period, he spent much precious time, 
and money besides, in the pursuit of the grand arcanum. 30 

Anthony Foster paused before the door, which was scrupu¬ 
lously secured within, and again showed a marked hesitation 
to disturb the sage in his operations. But Varney, less scru¬ 
pulous, roused him, by knocking and voice, until at length, 
slowly and reluctantly, the inmate of the apartment undid 35 
the door. The chemist appeared, with his eyes bleared with 
the heat and vapours of the stove or alembic over which he 
brooded, and the interior of his cell displayed the confused 
assemblage of heterogeneous substances and extraordinary 
implements belonging to his profession. The old man was 40 
muttering, with spiteful impatience, “ Am I for ever to be 
recalled to the affairs of earth from those of heaven?” 

“To the affairs of hell,” answered Varney, “for that is 









268 


KENILWORTH 


thy proper element. Foster, we need thee at our con¬ 
ference.’’ 

Foster slowly entered the room. Varney, following, 
barred the door, and they betook themselves to secret council. 

5 In the mean while, the countess traversed the apartment, 
with shame and anger contending on her lovely cheek. 

“The villain,” she said—“the cold-blooded, calculating 
slave ! But I unmasked him, Janet — I made the snake uft- 
coil all his folds before me, and crawl abroad in his naked 
io deformity. I suspended my resentment, at the danger of 
suffocating under the effort, until he had let me see the very 
bottom of a heart more foul than hell’s darkest corner. 
And thou, Leicester, is it possible thou couldst bid me for a 
moment deny my wedded right in thee, or thyself yield it to 
15 another! But it is impossible: the villain has lied in all. 
Janet, I will not remain here longer. I fear him — I fear 
thy father; I grieve to say it, Janet, but I fear thy father, 
and, worst of all, this odious Varney. I will escape from 
Cumnor.” 

20 “ Alas ! madam, whither would you fly, or by what means 

will you escape from these walls?” 

“I know not, Janet,” said the unfortunate young lady, 
looking upwards and clasping her hands together —-“ I 
know not where I shall fly, or by what means; but I am 
25 certain the God I have served will not abandon me in this 
dreadful crisis, for I am in the hands of wicked men.” 

“Do not think so, dear lady,” said Janet; “my father is 
stern and strict in his temper, and severely true to his trust; 
but yet-” 

3 ° At this moment, Anthony Foster entered the apartment 
bearing in his hand a glass cup and a small flask. His man¬ 
ner was singular; for, while approaching the countess with 
the respect due to her rank, he had till this time suffered to 
become visible, or had been unable to suppress, the obdurate 
35 sulkiness of his natural disposition, which, as is usual with 
those of his unhappy temper, was chiefly exerted towards 
those over whom circumstances gave him control. But at 
present he showed nothing of that sullen consciousness of 
authority which he was wont to conceal under a clumsy 
40 affectation of civility and deference, as a ruffian hides his 
pistols and bludgeon under his ill-fashioned gaberdine. And 
yet it seemed as if his smile was more in fear than cour- 



KENILWORTH 


269 


tesy, and as if, while he pressed the countess to taste of the 
choice cordial, which should refresh her spirits after her late 
alarm, he was conscious of meditating some farther injury. 
His hand trembled also, his voice faltered, and his whole out¬ 
ward behaviour exhibited so much that was suspicious, that 5 
his daughter Janet, after she had stood looking at him in 
astonishment for some seconds, seemed at once to collect 
herself to execute some hardy resolution, raised her head, 
assumed an attitude and gait of determination and authority, 
and walking slowly betwixt her father and her mistress, took 10 
the salver from the hand of the former, and said in a low, 
but marked and decided tone, “Father, 1 will fill for my 
noble mistress, when such is her pleasure.’’ 

“ Thou, my child! ” said Foster, eagerly and apprehen¬ 
sively; “no, my child, it is not thou shalt render the lady 15 
this service.” 

“And why, I pray you,” said Janet, “if it be fitting that 
the noble lady should partake of the cup at all ? ” 

“Why — why?” said the seneschal, hesitating, and then 
bursting into passion as the readiest mode of supplying the 20 
lack of all other reason. “ Why, because it is my pleasure, 
minion, that you should not! Get you gone to the evening 
lecture.” 

“ Now, as I hope to hear lecture again,” replied Janet, “ I 
will not go thither this night, unless I am better assured of 25 
my mistress’s safety. Give me that flask, father;” and she 
took it from his reluctant hand, while he resigned it as if con¬ 
science-struck. “And now,” she said, “father, that which 
shall benefit my mistress cannot do me prejudice. Father, I 
drink to you.” 3 ° 

Foster, without speaking a word, rushed on his daughter 
and wrested the flask from her hand; then, as if embar¬ 
rassed by what he had done, and totally unable to resolve 
what he should do next, he stood with it in his hand, one foot 
advanced and the other drawn back, glaring on his daughter 35 
with a countenance in which rage, fear, and convicted vil¬ 
lainy formed a hideous combination. 

“This is strange, my father,” said Janet, keeping her eye 
fixed on his, in the manner in which those who have the 
charge of lunatics' are said to overawe their unhappy pa- 40 
tients; “ will you neither let me serve my lady nor drink to 
her myself ? ” 

The courage of the countess sustained her through this 








270 


KENILWORTH 


dreadful scene, of which the import was not the less obvious 
that it was not even hinted at. She preserved even the rash 
carelessness of her temper, and though her cheek had grown 
pale at the first alarm, her eye was calm and almost scornful. 

5 “ Will you taste this rare cordial, Master Foster? Perhaps 
you will not yourself refuse to pledge us, though you permit 
not Janet to do so. Drink, sir, I pray you.” 

“ I will not,” answered Foster. 

“ And for whom, then, is the precious beverage reserved, 
io sir?” said the countess. 

“For the devil, who brewed it!” answered Foster; and, 
turning on his heel, he left the chamber. 

Janet looked at her mistress with a countenance expres¬ 
sive in the highest degree of shame, dismay, and sorrow, 
is “ Do not weep for me, Janet,” said the countess, kindly. 

“ No, madam,” replied her attendant, in a voice broken by 
sobs, “ it is not for you I weep, it is for myself — it is for that 
unhappy man. Those who are dishonoured before man, 
those who are condemned by God, have cause to mourn, not 
20 those who are innocent! Farewell, madam!” she said, 
hastily assuming the mantle in which she was wont to go 
abroad. 

“Do you leave me, Janet?” said her mistress— “desert 
me in such an evil strait?” 

25 “Desert you, madam!” exclaimed Janet; and, running 
back to her mistress, she imprinted a thousand kisses on her 
hand desert you ! may the Hope of my trust desert me 
when I do so! No, madam; well you said the God you 
serve will open you a path for deliverance. There is a way 
30 of escape; I have prayed night and day for light, that I 
might see how to act betwixt my duty to yonder unhappy 
man and that which I owe to you. Sternly and fearfully 
that light has now dawned, and I must not shut the door 
which God opens. Ask me no more. I will return in brief 
35 space.” 

So speaking, she wrapped herself in her mantle, and saying 
to the old woman whom she passed in the outer room that she 
was going to evening prayer, she left the house. 

Meanwhile, her father had reached once more the labora- 
40 tory where he found the accomplices of his intended guilt. 

“Has the sweet bird sipped?” said Varney, with half a 
smile; while the astrologer put the same question with his 
eyes, but spoke not a word. 



KENILWORTH 


271 


She has not, nor she shall not from my hands,” replied 
presence? ^ ou ^ ave me do murder in my daughter’s 

“ Wert thou not told, thou sullen and yet faint-hearted 
slave, answered Varney, with bitterness, “that no murder, 5 
as thou call st it, with that staring look and stammering tone, 
is designed in the matter? Wert thou not told that a brief 
illness, such as woman puts on in very wantonness, that she 
may wear her night gear at noon, and lie on a settle when she 
should mind her domestic business, is all here aimed at ? 10 
Here is a learned man will swear it to thee, by the key of the 
Castle of Wisdom.” J 

• ll iV’said Alasco,“ that the elixir thou hast there 
m flask will not prejudice life! I swear it by that im¬ 
mortal and indestructible quintessence of gold which per- 15 
vades every substance in nature, though its secret existence 
can be traced by him only to whom Trismegistus 0 renders 
the key of the Cabala.” 

An oath of force,” said Varney. “Foster, thou wert 
I worse than a pagan to disbelieve it. Believe me, moreover 20 
! who swear by nothing but by my own word, that, if you be 
| not conformable, there is no hope — no, not a glimpse of 
I h °P\ ^is leasehold may be transmuted into a 

I copyhold. Thus, Alasco will leave pewter artillery untrans¬ 
migrated, and I, honest Anthony, will still have thee for mv 
tenant.” J 3 

“.I know not, gentlemen,” said Foster, “where your 
designs tend to; but in one thing I am bound up, that, fall 
back fall edge, I will have one in this place that may pray 
for me, and that one shall be my daughter. I have lived ill, 30 
and the world has been too weighty with me; but she is as 
innocent as ever she was when on her mother’s lap, and she, 
at least, shall have her portion in that happy City whose 
walls are of pure gold, and the foundations garnished with all 
manner of precious stones.” 

“Ay, Tony,” said Varney, “that were a paradise to thy 
heart’s content. Debate the matter with him, Doctor 
Alasco; I will be with you anon.” 

So speaking, Varney arose, and, taking the flask from the 
table, he left the room. 4 o 

“I tell thee, my son,” said Alasco to Foster as soon as Var¬ 
ney had left them, “that, whatever this bold and profligate 
railer may say of the mighty science in which, by Heaven’s 






272 


KENILWORTH 


blessing, I have advanced so far, that I would not call the 
wisest of living artists my better or my teacher. I say, how¬ 
soever yonder reprobate may scoff at things too holy to be 
apprehended by men merely of carnal and evil thoughts, yet 
5 believe, that the city beheld by St. John, 0 in that bright 
vision of the Christian Apocalypse, 0 that New Jerusalem of 
which all Christian men hope to partake, sets forth typically 
the discovery of the Grand Secret, whereby the most pre¬ 
cious and perfect of nature’s works are elicited out of her 
iobasest and most crude productions; just as the light and 
gaudy butterfly, the most beautiful child of the summer’s 
breeze, breaks forth from the dungeon of a sordid 
chrysalis.” 

“Master Holdforth said nought of this exposition,” said 
iS Foster, doubtfully; “ and moreover, Doctor Alasco, the Holy 
Writ says that the gold and precious stones of the Holy City 
are in no sort for those who work abomination or who frame 
lies.” 

“ Well, my son,” said the doctor, “and what is your infer- 
20 ence from thence ? ” 

“That those,” said Foster, “who distil poisons, and ad¬ 
minister them in secrecy, can have no portion in those un¬ 
speakable riches.” 

“You are to distinguish, my son,” replied the alchemist, 
25 betwixt that which is necessarily evil in its progress and in 
its end also, and that which, being evil, is nevertheless capa¬ 
ble of working forth good. If, by the death of one person, 
the happy period shall be brought nearer to us in which all 
that is good shall be attained by wishing its presence, all that 
30 is evil escaped by desiring its absence; in which sickness, and 
pain, and sorrow shall be the obedient servants of human wis¬ 
dom, and made to fly at the slightest signal of a sage; in 
which that which is now richest and rarest shall be within the 
compass of every one who shall be obedient to the voice of 
35 wisdom; when the art of healing shall be lost and absorbed 
m the one universal medicine; when sages shall become 
monarchs of the earth, and death itself retreat before their 
frown — if this blessed consummation of all things can be 
hastened by the slight circumstance that a frail earthly body 
40 which must needs partake corruption, shall be consigned to 
the grave a short space earlier than in the course of nature 
what is such a sacrifice to the advancement of the holv 
millennium ? ” J 






KENILWORTH 


273 


“Millennium is the reign of the saints/’ said Foster, 
somewhat doubtfully. 

“ Say it is the reign of the sages, my son,” answered 
f Alasco; “ or rather the reign of Wisdom itself.” 

“ I touched on the question with Master Holdforth last 5 
exercising night,” said Foster; “but he says your doctrine 
j is heterodox, and a damnable and false exposition.” 

“He is in the bonds of ignorance, my son,” answered 
Alasco, “and as yet burning bricks in Egypt 0 ; or, at best, 
wandering in the dry desert of Sinai. 0 Thou didst ill to 10 
j speak to such a man of such matters. I will, however, 
give thee proof, and that shortly, which I will defy that 
! peevish divine to confute, though he should strive with me 
as the magicians strove with Moses before King Pharaoh. 0 
I will do projection in thy presence, my son — in thy very 15 
presence, and thine eyes shall witness the truth.” 

“ Stick to that, learned sage,” said Varney, who at this 
moment entered the apartment; “ if he refuse the testimony 
! of thy tongue, yet how shall he deny that of his own eyes ? ” 

“ Varney !” said the adept — “ Varney already returned ! 20 
I Hast thou-” he stopped short. 

“Have I done mine errand, thou wouldst say?” replied 
J Varney. “I have. And thou,” he added, showing more 
I symptoms of interest than he had hitherto exhibited — 

I “art thou sure thou hast poured forth neither more nor less 25 
I than the just measure ? ” 

I “Ay,” replied the alchemist, “as sure as men can be in 
| these nice proportions; for there is diversity of constitu¬ 
tions.” 

“ Nay, then,” said Varney, “ I fear nothing. I know thou 30 
wilt not go a step farther to the devil than thou art justly 
considered for. Thou wert paid to create illness, and wouldst 
esteem it thriftless prodigality to do murder at the same 
price. Come, let us each to our chamber. We shall see 
the event to-morrow.” 35 

“ What didst thou do to make her swallow it ? ” said Foster, 
shuddering. 

“Nothing,” answered Varney, “but looked on her with 
that aspect which governs madmen, women, and children. 
They told me, in St. Luke’s Hospital, 0 that I have the right 40 
look for overpowering a refractory patient. The keepers 
made me their compliments on’t; so I know how to win my 
bread when my court favour fails me.” 


t . 







274 


KENILWORTH 


“And art thou not afraid,” said Foster, “lest the dose be 
disproportioned ? ” 

“If so,” replied Varney, “she will but sleep the sounder, 
and the fear of that shall not break my rest. Good-night, 
5 my masters.” 

Anthony Foster groaned heavily, and lifted up his hands 
and eyes. The alchemist intimated his purpose to continue 
some experiment of high import during the greater part of 
the night, and the others separated to their places of repose. 



CHAPTER XXIII 


Now God be good to me in this wide pilgrimage ! 

All hope in human aid I cast behind me. 

Oh, who would be a woman ? — who that fool, 

A weeping, pining, faithful, loving woman? 

She hath hard measure still where she hopes kindest, 

And all her bounties only make ingrates. 

Love’s Pilgrimage. 

The summer evening was closed, and Janet, just when her 
longer stay might have occasioned suspicion and inquiry in 
that jealous household, returned to Cumnor Place, and has¬ 
tened to the apartment in which she had left her lady. She 
found her with her head resting on her arms, and these 5 
crossed upon a table which stood before her. As Janet came 
in, she neither looked up nor stirred. 

Her faithful attendant ran to her mistress with the speed 
of lightning, and rousing her at the same time with her hand, 
conjured the countess, in the most earnest manner, to look up io 
and say what thus affected her. The unhappy lady raised 
her head accordingly, and looking on her attendant with a 
ghastly eye, and cheek as pale as clay, “Janet/’ she said, 

“ I have drank it.” . „ , 

“God be praised!” said Janet, hastily. I mean, God 15 
be praised that it is no worse: the potion will not harm you. 
Rise, shake this lethargy from your limbs and this despair 
from your mind.” 

“ Janet,” repeated the countess again, disturb me not — 
leave me at peace — let life pass quietly I am poisoned. 20 

“You are not, my dearest lady,” answered the maiden, 
eagerly; “what you have swallowed cannot injure you, for 
the antidote has been taken before it, and I hastened hither 
to tell you that the means of escape are open to you. 

“Escape!” exclaimed the lady, as she raised herself 25 
hastily in her chair, while light returned to her eye and life 
to her cheek; “but ah ! Janet, it comes too late. 

“Not so, dearest lady. Rise, take mine arm, walk 
through the apartment. Let not fancy do the work of 

275 






276 


KENILWORTH 


80; fe v l ?°?»? ot now that you are possessed of the 
lull use of your limbs ? ” 

7^ t0r P 0r s ® er ? s t0 diminish/’ said the countess, as, sup- 
, Pw ’ She wa ; lk ® d to and f ™ “ the apartment; 

draught?* v hen S °’ a 7 haV - e 1 not swallowed a deadly 
dr a ught ? Varney was here since thou wert gone, and com- 

von n horr^ I ? 7i ch 1 read my ^te, to swallow 

yon horrible drug. O Janet! it must be fatal: never was 

to ha /m le ss ? raught served by ^uch a cupbearer !” 

“hufrni noof de T 7 arml . ess , 1 fear,” replied the maiden; 

but God confounds the devices of the wicked. Believe me! 
as I swear by the dear Gospel in which we trust, your life is 
^fr£ on ? hls P ra ctice. Did you not debate with him?” 

T( „ ibe house was silent/’ answered the lady, “thou gone 

S rHmp her T b 7 h K l n ? e chamber, and he capable of every 
crime. I did but stipulate he would remove his hateful 
presence, and I drank whatever he offered. But you spoke 
of escape, Janet; can I be so happy?” ™ I 

- effort ” y s °a"dlK a Td°en gh ‘° the ^ and the ! 

“Strong !” answered the countess — “ask the hind when 
the fangs of the deer-hound are stretched to gripe her’ if she ! 

. eveigeffort^ha.t may^eh^reme fron^this plac^” 1 ! 

3 °IS 

».^unde^^L^^“ ,m « Baf,nlndT Can 1 

of bXTIhil^wmdd ” saidth /, lad y- “ finds strength 
viUalf who 

40 strength to rise from my death-bed ” ° n ° Ur W ° UW giVe me i 
adi^ ^ bid you 

Will you not fly with me, then, Janet?” said the count- 1 


25 



KENILWORTH 


'277 


ess, anxiously. “Am I to lose thee? Is this thy faithful 
service?” 

“ Lady, I would fly with you as willingly as bird ever tied 
from cage, but my doing so would occasion instant dis¬ 
covery and pursuit. I must remain, and use means to 5 
disguise the truth for some time. May Heaven pardon the 
falsehood because of the necessity!” 

“And am I then to travel alone with this stranger? 
said the lady. “Bethink thee, Janet, may not this prove 
some deeper and darker scheme to separate me perhaps 10 
from you, who are my only friend?” 

“ No, madam, do not suppose it,” answered Janet, readily; 
“the youth is an honest youth in his purpose to you; and a 
friend to Master Tressilian, under whose direction he is come 


hither.” <fT 15 

“If he be a friend of Tressilian,” said the countess, 1 
will commit myself to his charge as to that of an angel sent 
from Heaven; for than Tressilian never breathed mortal, 
man more free of whatever was base, false, or selfish. He 
forgot himself whenever he could be of use to others. Alas . 20 
and how was he requited ! ” . , 

With eager haste they collected the few necessaries which 
it was thought proper the countess should take with her, and 
which Janet, with speed and dexterity, formed into a small 
bundle, not forgetting to add such ornaments of intrinsic 25 
value as came most readily in her way and particularly a 
casket of jewels, which she wisely judged might prove of ser¬ 
vice in some future emergency. The Countess of Leicester 
next changed her dress for one which Janet usually vore 
upon any brief journey, for they judged it necessary to avoid 30 
every external distinction which might attract notice. Ere 
these preparations were fully made, the moon had arisen m 
the summer heaven, and all in the mansion had betaken 
themselves to rest, or at least to the silence and retirement ^ 

° f The 1 re C was 1 no difficulty anticipated in escapmg, whether 
from the house or garden, provided only they could elude 
observation. Anthony Foster had accustomed himself to 
consider his daughter as a conscious sinner might regard a 
visible guardian angel, which, notwithstanding his guilt, 40 
continued to hover around him, and therefore his trust 
in her knew no bounds. Janet commanded her own motions 
during the daytime, and had a master-key which opened the 






278 


KENIL WORTH 


iilfsfraw 

15 caUed* upon^t^ma^'^er^ady’s^^e^y^^h^ 

°f her care setting all other considerations aside‘ Pal ° bjeCt 
steps^he^brokerTand^nterruphed pa^T’wMc^had^^ hasty 

20 taSmeTSSS aL‘n e owre ghS ° f «T*°* 
ful and deceiving light fromth4 beamsof^“ elvln S a doubt- 
penetrated where the axe had made ^ f the F 10011 . which 
Their path was repeaMly^interraptedbvfXdr th<3 W ° od ' 
2 5 large boughs which had beenleft™ thj U d or the 
served to make them into fe|ots and bil ets T*' ““ 

lence and difficulty attending there ? +™ 3 i. rhe ‘nconven- 
less haste of the first nart S nf Th, F nter ™Ptions, the breath- 

sensations of hope and the exhausting 

30 strength that Janet was foroed“o otodos^ th * h ®, coun . tes s’s 

there^ore, a stood 1 ^sthi e ^)eneath V the^sh^d^ 1 ^ 1 ^ S fioth| 

35 front was seen in tL gloomy distance “th^°n ‘° ng dark 
of chimneys, turrets and clockhnn^ ’ ™ th rt , s hu S e sta cks 
of the roof, and definedly visible aeainstTh^ above the line 
of the summer sky. One lieht nS f ■ n pu f e azure blue 
tended and shadowy mass and ftZ twiakle f the ex- 
40 rather seemed to glimmer W? tL pla S e . d 80 low that it 
mansion than from one of the window? The^ °l tbe 
terror was awakened. “They follow The . countess’s 

out to Janet the light whichthus alarmed h^r^^’ P ° mtmg 


KENILWORTH 


279 


Less agitated than her mistress, Janet perceived that, the 
gleam was stationary, and informed the countess, in a 
whisper, that the light proceeded from the solitary cell in 
which the alchemist pursued his occult experiments. “ He 
is of those,” she added, “who sit up and watch by nights 
that they may commit iniquity. Evil was the chance which 
sent hither a man whose mixed speech of earthly wealth and 
unearthly or superhuman knowledge hath in it what does 
so especially captivate my poor father. Well spoke the 
good Master Holdforth, and, methought, not without io 
meaning that those of our household should find therein a 
practical use. ‘ There be those/ he said, ‘ and their number 
is legion, who will rather, like the wicked Ahab, 0 listen to 
the dreams of the false prophet Zedekiah than to the words 
of him by whom the Lord has spoken.’ And he further 15 
insisted: ‘Ah, my brethren, there be many Zedekiahs 
among you — men that promise you the light of their 
carnal knowledge, so you will surrender to them that of your 
Heavenly understanding. What are they better than the 
tyrant Naas,° who demanded the right eye of those who were 20 
subjected to him?’ And farther, he insisted-” . 

It is uncertain how long the fair Puritan s memory might 
have supported her in the recapitulation of Master Hold- 
forth’s discourse; but the countess interrupted her, and as¬ 
sured her she was so much recovered that she could now 25 
reach the postern without the necessity of a second delay. 

They set out accordingly, and performed the second part 
of their journey with more deliberation, and of course more 
easily, than the first hasty commencement. This gave them 
leisure for reflection; and Janet now, for the first time, 30 
ventured to ask her lady which way she proposed to direct 
her flight. Receiving no immediate answer — for, perhaps, 
in the confusion of her mind, this very obvious subject 
of deliberation had not occurred to the countess — J anet 
ventured to add, “Probably to your father’s house, where35 
you are sure of safety and protection? 

“ No Janet,” said the lady, mournfully, I left Lidcote 
Hall while my heart was light and my name was honourable, 
and I will not return thither till my lord’s permission and 
public acknowledgment of our marriage restore me to my 40 
native home with all the rank and honour which he has 

bestowed on me.” . , T + 

“And whither will you, then, madam? said Janet. 






280 


KENILWORTH 


u T % irl >” ® aid the countess, boldly and freely. 

1 will see these revels — these princely revels —the 
preparation for which makes the land ring from side to side 
Methmks, when the Queen of England feaste within m V 

5 beseeming guest.” teSS ° f LeiCester should be n0 un ' 

hastily. ray G ° d y ° U “ ay be a weloome one!” said Janet, 

“ You abuse my situation, Janet,” said the countess nn 
io gnly, “ and you forget your own ” countess, an- 

maiden 0 ‘WW raadam •” said the sorrowful 

maiden, but have you forgotten that the noble earl has 
given such strict charges to keep your marriagesecretthat 
he may preserve his court favour? and can you think that 
xs your sudden appearance at his castle at such a^iuncture 
ail “ tu SU - a P res ® nce ^ will be acceptable to him ? ” ’ 

1 bou thmkest I would disgrace him ? ” said the countess • 

outruns!?. “ y arm ’ 1 ° an Walk With0ut aid < wo?“: 

20 “ Be angry with me > lad y/’ said Janet, meeklv “and 
let me still support you; the road is rough, and you are little 
accustomed to walk in darkness.” 7 Alttle 

. ^/,, you d eem me ncd so mean as may disgrace mv hus 

band,” said the countess, in the same resentful tonT“vou 
25 suppose my Lord of Leicester capable of abetting nerhans of 
g™ 8 ai ™ ? nd authority to, the base procKZf 

^ForGoJfsnt 7, Wh T Grrand 1 wil1 d ° to the good earl ” 

t or God s sake, madam, spare my father in vour rennrt ” 

30^/^; i^” ervices ’ howJcr p°». SI 

£ =1 's.z£ss 

receive from his own lips the directions for my future’con 






KENILWORTH 


281 


duct. Do not argue against my resolution, Janet; you will 
onlv confirm me in it. And to own the truth, I am resolved 
to know my fate at once, and from my husband s own mouth, 
and to seek him at Kenilworth is the surest way to attain my ^ 

PU While Janet hastily revolved in her mind the difficulties 
and uncertainties attendant on the unfortunate lady s 
situation, she was inclined to alter her first opunon, and to 
think upon the whole, that, since the countess had with¬ 
drawn herself from the retreat in which she had been placed by io 
her husband, it was her first duty to repair to his presence 
and possess him with the reasons of such conduct bhe 
knew P what importance the earl attached to the < 
of their marriage, and could not but own that, by taking any 
step to make it public without his permission the countess 15 
would incur, in a high degree, the indignation of her husband. 

If she retired to her father’s house without an explicit 
avowal of her rank, her situation was likely greatly to pre- 
iudice her character; and if she made such an avowal, it 
mieht occasion an irreconcilable breach with her husband. 20 
At S Kenilworth, again, she might plead her cause with her 
husband himself, whom Janet, though distrusting him more 
than the countess did, believed mcapable of bemg accessary 
to the base and desperate means which his dependants, 
from whose power tlJlady was now escaping-S 
tn in order to stifle her complaints of the treatment sne 
had'received at\heir hands. *But at the worst, and were 
the earl himself to deny her justice and protection, still at 
Kenilworth, if she chose to make her wrongs public, the 
countess might have Tressilian for her advocate, and the 30 
Queen "for her judge; for s ° m " c J\ JaI gL^ 'therefore, 

on r thT^hX f recon e cilId h to W hCT lady’s proposal of going 
towards Kenilworth, and so expressed herself; recommend¬ 
ing however, to the countess the utmost caution m making 35 
arrival known to her husband. . , 

think that he knows more than what the public m genera 
believe of your situation.” 

“ And what is that ? ’ said the lady. 


282 


KENIL WORTH 


youIgai/if U I ffo n y n°” r f ^ he T r ’ s house —but I shall offend 
y °u5 a n d 1 S° on > said Janet, interrupting: herself 

Nay, go on,” said the countess; “ I must lelrn to endure 
; f b f n f T re P°rt which my folly has brought upon me They 

fawless^leasure' ^ifis a ‘ 1Ve left "S' father’s house to follow 
r an error whl ch will soon be removed 

cease d fo C li 1 vp Sha T ’ f ° r 1 WlH llv S with s P otless f ame or I shall 
Leicester?” am accounted > th en, the paramour of my 4 ' 

IO hir^i St ^ Gn Say 0f Varne y/’ said Janet; -yet some call 

cloak of his master’s pleasures; for 

na ent th haVe SeCre f tl 7 Som^abroad, In™‘sucKfngs^far^m’ 

for though thou art now but the attendant of a Tf’/ anet j 
and errant lady who is both d ^ / a dlstres sed 

35 ess m England ! ” service to the hrst count- 

+ ,;Now, may God grant it, dear lady!” said Janpf_ 

that We ma ^ b0th 

40 hardwr en ching, yield(xfto f th^masteTkp^°° r had ’ after some 
not without internal shurirWin er- hey, and the countess, 


KENILWORTH 


283 


anxiety for their appearance, Wayland Smith stood at some 
distance, shrouding himself behind a hedge which bordered 
the highroad. 

“Is all safe?” said Janet to him, anxiously, as he ap¬ 
proached them with caution. 5 

“All,” he replied; “but I have been unable to procure a 
horse for the lady. Giles Gosling, the cowardly hilding, re¬ 
fused me one on any terms whatever; lest, forsooth, he 
should suffer — but no matter. She must ride on my pal¬ 
frey, and I must walk by her side until I come by another ic 
horse. There will be no pursuit, if you, pretty Mistress 
Janet, forget not thy lesson.” 

“No more than the wise widow of Tekoa° forgot the 
words which Joab put into her mouth,” answered Janet. 
“To-morrow, I say that my lady is unable to rise.” 15 

“ Ay, and that she hath aching and heaviness of the head, 
a throbbing at the heart, and lists not to be disturbed. Fear 
not; they will take the hint, and trouble thee with few ques¬ 
tions: they understand the disease.” 

“But,” said the lady, “my absence must be soon dis- 26 
covered, and they will murder her in revenge. I will rather 
return than expose her to such danger.” 

“Be at ease on my account, madam,” said Janet; I 
would you were as sure of receiving the favour you desire 
from those to whom you must make appeal, as I am that my 25 
father, however angry, will suffer no harm to befall me.” 

The countess was now placed by Wayland upon his horse, 
around the saddle of which he had placed his cloak, so folded 
as to make her a commodious seat. 

« Adieu, and may the blessing of God wend with you! 3° 
said Janet, again kissing her mistress’s hand, who returned 
her benediction with a mute caress. They then tore them¬ 
selves asunder, and Janet, addressing Wayland, exclaimed, 

« May Heaven deal with you at your need, as you are true or 
false to this most injured and most helpless lady F 

“Amen! dearest Janet,” replied Wayland; and believe 
me, I will so acquit myself of my trust, as may tempt even 
your pretty eyes, saint-like as they are, to look less scorn¬ 
fully on me when we next meet.” . 

The latter part of this adieu was whispered into Janet s4o 
ear- and, although she made no reply to it directly, yet her 
mariner, influenced no doubt by her desire tc leave every 
motive in force which could operate towards her mistress s 


35 






284 


KENILWORTH 


safety, did not discourage the hope which Wayland’s words 

hphfnH S u d ‘ S u re fi? te ? ed j the P° stern door, and locked it 
behind her, while, Wayland taking the horse’s bridle in his 
hand and walking close by its head, they began in silence 
5 their dubious and moonlight journey, 
i A 1 though Wayland Smith used the utmost despatch which 
he could make yet this mode of travelling was so slow that 
when mornmg began to dawn through the eastern mist, he 
found himself no farther than about ten miles distant from* 
IO S? w r ‘ i ^° W ’ a J? la ? ue upon a11 smooth-spoken hosts !” 
W ayland ’ unab * e i on S er to suppress his mortification 
and uneasiness. Had the false loon, Giles Gosling but 
told me plainly two days since that I was to reckon nought 
upon him, I had shifted better for myself. But your hosts 
15 iT^wru ?u St T of promising whatever is called for, that 

iron Had H fv ed 1S t0 r be S J 1 ? d you find they are out of 
iron. Had I but known, I could have made twenty shifts* 

aad lr \ so g° od a ca use, I would have 

2 -o mon ^ it hid K t a u 6 pngg< S a P rancer ° from the next com- 

bSouirh 1 h Thp b f 1 been J e il dl ? g back the brute to the head- 
borough The farcy and the founders confound every horse 
m the stables of the Black Bear!” y 

thJt h th la H y endeav oured to comfort her guide, observing 
th «Vrn! daW ^ W ° a L d enable him to make more speed. 
fpihT + ’ 1 mada f 1 ’ hereplied; “but then it will enable other 
nf ^1°- take note T 0 / u ?» and that may prove an ill beginning 
° + V r ■ , ? u ^ ley ’ 1 had not cared a spark from anvil about the 

SSdI e h ba u W( ? been father advanced on our way. But this 
Berkshire has been notoriously haunted ever since I knew the 
30 country with that sort of malicious elves who sit up late and 

affaiS y i h r a rw" r T p0se JT to P f y into ra 

oof fp«r >’ h f endangered by them ere now. But do 
not fear, he added, good madam; for wit, meeting with 
„ P K^ tU ? ty ’ wdl aot mi .® s find a salve for every lore.” 

35 The alarms of her guide made more impression on the 
countess s mind than the comfort which he judged fit to ad 

minister aiong with it. She looked anxioiSySoSnd hw" 

and as the shadows withdrew from the landscape and the 
heightening glow of the eastern sky promised Speedy rise 
4 o of the sun, expected at every turn that the increasing light 
would expose them to the view of the vengeful pursuers § or 
present some dangerous and insurmountable obstacle to the 
prosecution of their journey. Wayland Smith pSved her 


KENILWORTH 


285 


Ste S no°w whistiinl to UmseW fowUd Interrultecfsnatches 

irSSi 

there was nothing in sight which might give the he to h 
and convenience. 





CHAPTER XXIV 


Richard. 

Catesby. 


A horse ! — a horse ! — 
-My lord, I’ll help 


my kingdom for a horse ! «• 
you to a horse. 

Richard III. 


Oub torero Were i n - \ he act of Posing a small thicket of 
trees close by the roadside, when the first living being pre- 
sented hnnself whom they had seen since their departure 
from Cumnor Place. This was a stupid lout, seemingly a 

5 u° y i m a A rey J ' erkin ’ with his head b are, his hose 

about his heels, and huge startups upon his feet. He held by 

the bridle what of all things they most wanted — a palfrey 
namely with a side-saddle and all other garniture for a 
woman s mounting; and he hailed Wayland Smith with 
i° Zur, ye be zure the party?” ' 

• + b?» m y lad,” answered Wayland, without an 

instant s hesitation; and it must be owned that consciences 
trained in a stricter school of morality might have given way 
to an occasion so tempting. While he spoke, he caught the 

5 hplnPd U L° f b ° y s , hand ’ and almost at the same time 

helped down the countess from his own horse, and aided her 
to mount on that which chance had thus presented for her 

thatch* 1106 ' Indeed : so naturally did the whole take place, 
that the countess, as it afterwards appeared, never suspected 
20 but that the horse had been placed there to meet them by 
the precaution of the guide or some of his friends 7 

the lad, however, who was thus hastily dispossessed of his 

^. ar S e ’ b I gan to sta i re hard ’ and scr atch his head, as if 
seized with some qualms of conscience for delivering up the 
25 animal on such brief explanation. “I be right zurethou 
be st the party,” said he, muttering to himself “but thou 
shouldst ha zaid ‘Beans/ thou knaw’st” ’ Ut th U 

tifou K’ S n t d >- speaking at a venture >- “ and 

30 ‘P:a^7 s ru;d S ha d s t ai e d‘? d; “ bide ^-bideye ; it was 

286 





KENILWORTH 


287 


“ Well — well/’ answered Wayland, “ ‘ Pease’ be it, a God s 
name! though ‘ Bacon’ were the better password. 

And being by this time mounted on his own horse, he 
caught the rein of the palfrey from the uncertain hold of the 
hesitating young boor, flung him a small piece of money, and 5 
made amends for lost time by riding briskly off without farther 
parley. The lad was still visible from the hill up which they 
were riding, and Wayland, as he looked back, beheld him 
standing with his fingers in his hair as immovable as a guide- 
post, and his head turned in the direction in which they were 10 
escaping from him. At length, just as they topped the hill, 
he saw the clown stoop to lift up the silver groat which his 
benevolence had imparted. “ Now this is what l call a God- 
send ” said Wayland: “this is a bonny well-ridden bit of a 
going thing, and it will carry us so far till we get you as well 15 
mounted, and then we will send it back time enough to 

satisfy the hue and cry.” , , 

But he was deceived in his expectations; and fate, which 
seemed at first to promise so fairly, soon threatened to turn 
the incident which he thus gloried in into the cause of their 20 

Ut The r yhad not ridden a short mile from the place where they 
left the lad before they heard a man’s voice shouting on t e 
wind behind them, “ Robbery ! — robbery ! Stop thief, 
and similar exclamations, which Wayland s conscience 25 
readily assured him must arise out of the transaction to 
which he had been just accessary. „ . 

“ I had better have gone barefoot all my life, he said. it 
is the hue and cry, and I am a lost man. Ah ! Wayland 
Wayland, many a time thy father said horse-flesh would be 30 
the death of thee. Were I once safe among the horse- 
coursers in Smithfield or Turnball Street, they should have 
leave to hang me as high as St. Paul’s if I e> er meddled more 
with nobles, knights, or gentlewomen • . , , 

Amidst these dismal reflections, he turned his Head re 35 
peatedly to see by whom he was chased, and was much com¬ 
forted when he could only discover a single rider, who was, 
however well mounted, and came after them at a speed which 
left them no chance of escaping, even had the lady s strength 
permitted her to ride as fast as her palfrey might have been 40 

^‘^There may be fair play betwixt us, sure,” thought Way- 
land, “wheTe there is but one man on each side; and yonder 






288 


KENIL WORTH 


Pshaw Mf°it h ° r f ?u° Ie lik ® a monk ey than a cavalier 
Jrsnaw. it it come to the worst, it will be easv iinhnr«irur 

IbingdoX’when amma ‘ ° f a merCer from 

tmmssm 

-mmmm 

m^mrns 

When the mercer had recovered breath fmri ,> .. 

enough to confront them, he ordered Wavltnd tn « audac . rt y 
30 tone, to deliver up his palfrey y and ’ in a menacing 

we c^mma'nded^to^stand^and 1 deliver o^The^ T\° “ are 

Then out, Excalibar, 0 and tell this kmVh+ h f km§ S hl S hwa y ? 
blows must decide between us!” ght fprowessthatdil *e 
35 “Haro 0 a ’’ " 
the mercer, 
own! ” 

Wayland, o?I wilUhrouth wit^™^ f ° ul pa T nin b°” said 
40 at the end on’t. Neverthefess knnw 1 ?^ 11 ?? 86 ’ Were death 
cambric and ferrateen, that I am he even U f!f 1Se m an ° f frail 
thou didst boast to meet on Maiden fw? at 6 pedlar ’ whom 
of his pack; whereforebetakethee to §£weapons present 


st aeciae between us !” 

and help, and hue and cry, every true man !” 

T ’ 1 am withs *°od in seeking^ torecovcr mine 







KENILWORTH 


289 


“ I spoke but in jest, man,” said Goldthred; “ I am an hon¬ 
est shopkeeper and citizen, who scorns to leap forth on any 
man from behind a hedge.” 

“ Then, by my faith, most puissant mercer, answered 
Wayland’ “ I am sorry for my vow, which was that, wherever 5 
I met thee, I would despoil thee of thy palfrey and bestow it 
upon my leman, unless thou couldst defend it by blows of 
force. But the vow is passed and registered; and all I can 
do for thee is to leave the horse at Donnington, m the nearest 

hostelry.” . 10 

“ But I tell thee, friend,” said the mercer, it is the very 
horse on which I was this day to carry Jane Thackham of 
Shottesbrook as far as the parish church yonder, to become 
Dame Goldthred. She hath jumped out of the shot-window 
of old Gaffer Thackham’s grange; and lo ye, yonder she 15 
stands at the place where she should have met the palfrey, 
with her camlet riding-cloak and ivory-handled whip, like a 
picture of Lot’s wife. 0 I pray you, in good terms, let me 

have back the palfrey.” , , ,, , . , 

“ Grieved am I,” said Wayland, “ as much for the fair dam- 20 
sel as for thee, most noble imp of muslin. But vows must 
have their course; thou wilt find the palfrey at the Angel 
yonder at Donnington. It is all I may do for thee with a safe 

conscience.” . . „ .. ,, ,. , 

“To the devil with thy conscience! said the dismayed 25 
mercer. “Wouldst thou have a bride walk to church on 

f0< “Thou mayest take her on thy crupper, Sir Goldthred,” 
answered Wayland; “it will take down thy steed s mettle. 

“ And how if you — if you forget to leave my horse as you 30 
propose?” said Goldthred, not without hesitation, for his 

soul was afraid within him. _ 

“ My pack shall be pledged for it; yonder it lies with Giles 
Gosling, in his chamber with the damask d leathern hangings, 
stuffed full with velvet — single, double, triple-piled 35 
rash, taffeta and paropa, shag, damask, and mockado, plush 

ail “ Hold ! — hold ! ” exclaimed the mercer; “ nay, if there be, 
in truth and sincerity, but the half of these wares but if 
ever I trust bumpkin with bonny Bayard again! 4 ° 

“As you list for that, good Master Goldthred, and so good 
morrow to you — and well parted,” he added, riding on 
cheerfully with the lady, while the discountenanced mercer 








290 


KENIL WORTH 


rode back much slower than he came, pondering what ex- 
WhW ! ho V ld ma ^ e 1 ° the disappointed bride, who stood 
highway f ° r ^ gallant groom m the mid st of the king’s 

5 Methought,” said the lady as they rode on, “yonder fool 
stared at me as if he had some remembrance of me • yet I 
kept my muffler as high as I might ” ' y 

“If I thought so,” said Wayland, “I would ride back and 
to P ut . hlm ove r the Pate: there would be no fear of harming his 

^p{h S ’ f ° r r G nev ^ had so much as would make pap to a 
sucking gosling. We must now push on, however and at 
-Donning ton we will leave the oafs horse/that hi may have 
woh r » h h tem Pj' a ^ lon t0 Pursue us, and endeavour to assume 
15 ^severe ta S it.” P6 “ may baffle his P ursuit ’ if he should 
The travellers reached Donnington without farther alarm 
Sot t t wo eC Ir m tV,^ att | 1 er ° f ? ecessity that the countess should 

journey ° f ^ futur « 

Exchanging his pedlar’s gaberdine for a smock-frock he 
carried the palfrey of Goldthred to the Angel C whiSi was 

2- b«H h + e *v ther en + l°- f the Vllla § e from that where our travellers 
2 > had taken up their quarters. In the progress of the morn! 
mg, as he travelled about his other business, he saw the steed 

tt h; th herd d o d f el i ver ? d to the cutting ^ 

wno, at the head of a valorous posse of the hue and crv 
came to rescue by force of arms, what was delivered to him 
30 without any other ransom than the price of a huge quantitv 
with e 4 dr n Ut b Z hlS assista nts, thirsty, it would seem 

GoLdthred had" the priced which MasS 

Vroiatnred had a fierce dispute with the head-boron o-h 

35 try° m had summoned to aid him in rlisfng the 

. Having made this act of prudent, as well as iust re«tfitu- 
i°n, Wayland procured such change of apparel for the ladv 

4o L o ;r f rt^ 

horse, fit to keep pace with hif own, and S gentle enough tori 
lady s use, completed the preparations for the journey f for 





KENILWORTH 


291 


making which, and for other expenses, he had been furnished 
with sufficient funds by Tressilian. And thus, about noon, 
after the countess had been refreshed by the sound repose of 
several hours, they resumed their journey, with the purpose 
of making the best of their way to Kenilworth, by Coventry 5 
and Warwick. They were not, however, destined to travel 
far without meeting some cause of apprehension. 

It is necessary to premise, that the landlord of the inn had 
informed them that a jovial party, intended, as he under¬ 
stood, to present some of the masques or mummeries which 10 
made a part of the entertainment with which the Queen was 
usually welcomed on the royal progresses, had left the village 
of Donnington an hour or two before them, m order to pro¬ 
ceed to Kenilworth. Now it had occurred to Wayland that, 
by attaching themselves in some sort to this group, as soon 15 
as they should overtake them on the road, they would be 
less likely to attract notice than if they continued to travel 
entirely by themselves. He communicated his idea to the 
countess, who, only anxious to arrive at Kenilworth without 
interruption, left him free to choose the manner m which 20 
this was to be accomplished. They pressed forward their 
horses, therefore, with the purpose of overtaking the party 
of intended revellers, and making the journey m their com¬ 
pany ; and had just seen the little party, consisting partly of 
riders, partly of people on foot, crossing the summit of a gen- 25 
tie hill, at about half a mile’s distance, and disappearing on 
the other side, when Wayland, who maintained the most cir¬ 
cumspect observation of all that met his eye in every direc¬ 
tion, was aware that a rider was coming up behind them on a 
horse of uncommon action, accompanied by a serving-man, 3 
whose utmost efforts were unable to keep up with his master s 
trotting hackney, and who, therefore, was fam to follow him 
at a hand-gallop . 0 Wayland looked anxiously back at these 
horsemen, g becTme considerably disturbed in his manner 
looked back again, and became pale, as he said to the lady. 35 
“That is Richard Varney’s trotting gelding: I would know 
him among a thousand nags; this is a worse business than 

m ^Draw*you r sword,” answered the lady, “and pierce my 
bosom with it, rather than I should fall into his hands. 40 
“ I would rather by a thousand times,” answered Wayland, 
“pass it through his body, or even mine own But to say 
truth, fighting is not my best point, though I can look on 








292 


KENILWORTH 


cold iron like another when needs must be. And, indeed 
as for my sword — put on, I pray you — it is a poor pro- 
vant rapier, and I warrant you he has a special Toledo ° He 

e a s ervmgman> t and x think it . g H he drunken -a* 

5 vm!l b 0 U n e ’ + upor ! the horse on which men say — I p? a v 
you heartily to put on — he did the great robbery 7 of the west 

a h °d U fh h FT * 5 “ D ™’ wSVm of th^m’ 

rath ! 1r b u y P°hcy than by violence. Could we once 
reach the party before us, we may herd among them and 
15 pass unobserved, unless Varney be really com! in Snr^« 
PU ™ us, and then, happy man be his dole 0 ! ” P 
While he thus spoke, he alternately urged and restrained 

“ ° fl f y r g ~ L m * ht '&2&Z 

iwmsm 

-sj^isSS^SSass? 

thSascs x?ss,“ li!* ,h *' m, “* *° 

“SsSfMlpSpS 

assistance is not wanted m cases where their 

Wayland and his charge paused, as if out of curiosity, and 






KENILWORTH 


293 


then gradually, without making any inquiries, or being asked 
any questions, they mingled with the group, as if they had 

^eyradnot^tood there above five minutes anxiously 
keeping as much to the side of the road as possible, so as to 5 
place the other travellers betwixt them and Varney, when 
Lord Leicester’s master of the horse, followed by Lambourne 
came riding fiercely down the hill, their horses flanks and 
the rowels of their spurs showing bloody tokens of the rate at 
which they travelled. The appearance of the stationary xo 
group around the cottages, wearing their buckram smts in 
order to protect their masqumg dresses, having their light 
cart for transporting their scenery, and carrying various 
fantastic properties in their hands for the more easy con¬ 
veyance, let the riders at once into the character and purpose 15 

° f “You^Se revellers,” said Varney, “ designing for Kenil- 

W °- t Rede quidem, Domine s pectatis s ime,°" answered one of ^ 

th “ And why the devil stand you here,” said Varney, “ when 
vnnr utmost despatch will but bring you to Kenilworth in 
time ? U Tim Queen dines at Warwick to-morrow, and you 

l 0 i “Tn h verV y trutriir,” ’'said a little diminutive urchin, wear- 25 
imr a vizard with a couple of sprouting horns of an elegant 
scarlet hue having moreover a black serge jerkm drawn close 
to his body by lacing, garnished with red^tockn^, £ 

truth £ S and P you a are Si thfright on’t. It is my father the 30 
» who, beilig taken in labour, has delayed our present 

mln O 0 r SP o O ne e -f even now at Lucinafer o P em ° within that 

Ve “ y Bv^ti(Sorge, or rather by the Dragon, who may be a 
i • ^ f fim fipnrl in the straw, a most comical chance . 4 

snirl'varnev^ “ How sayst thou, Lambourne, wilt thou stand 
S g a odfa V the n r e lor the°nonle ? If the devil were to choose a 
gossip, I know no one more fit for the office. 










294 KENILWORTH 


“ Saving always when my betters are in presence,” said 
Lambourne, with the civil impudence of a servant who ■ 
knows his services to be so indispensable that his jest will 
be^ permitted to pass muster. 

5 And what is the name of this devil or devil’s dam who has 
timed her turns so strangely?” said Varney. “We can ill 1 
afford to spare any of our actors.” 

“Gaudei nomine Sibyllce, 0 ” said the first speaker: “she is 
called Sibyl Laneham, wife of Master Richard fRobertl 
io Laneham-” J 


„ , Cler J : . to . the council-chamber door,” said Varney 
why, she is inexcusable, having had experience how to have 
ordered her matters better. But who were those, a man and 
a woman I think, who rode so hastily up the hill before me 
15 even now? Do they belong to your company?” 

Wayland was about to hazard a reply to this alarming in- 
quiry, when the little diablotin again thrust in his oar. 

So please you,” he said, coming close up to Varney, and 
speaking so as not to be overheard by his companions “ the 
20 man was our devil major, who has tricks enough to supply 
the lack of a hundred such as Dame Laneham; and the 
woman, if you please, is the sage person whose assistance is 
°?XiP art i CUlarly necessar y to our distressed comrade ” 

Oh, what you have got the wise woman, then?” said 
25 Varney. Why, truly, she rode like one bound to a place 
where she was needed. And you have a spare limb of 
batan, besides, to supply the place of Mrs. Laneham?” 

sir > the boy, “they are not so scarce in this 

Thf] d r^ aS /° n r h ? n ? U n S v . lrtuous eminence would suppose. 
30 This master fiend shall spit a few flashes of fire and eruct a 
volume or two of smoke on the spot, if it will do you pleasure • 
you would think he had .Etna 0 in his abdomen.” 

1 lack time just now, most hopeful imp of darkness to 
witness his performance,” said Varney; “but here is some 

35 savT ‘ r r nH°h a11 •th drink ft Iuck y, hour ; and so, as the play 
says, God be with your labour! ^ J 

on T his way akinS ’ StrU ° k WS h ° rSe With the spurs ’ and rode 

Lamhonme tarried a moment or two behind his master 
40 and rummaged his pouch for a piece of silver, which he 
bestowed on the communicative imp, as he said, for his 
encouragement on his path to the infernal regions, soml 
sparks of whose fire, he said, he could discover flashing from 


V 





KENILWORTH 


295 


him already. Then, having received the boy’s thanks for 
his generosity, he also spurred his horse, and rode after his 

master as fast as the fire flashes from flint. 

“ And now,” said the wily imp, sidling close up to Way- 
land’s horse, and cutting a gambol in the air, which seemed 5 
to vindicate his title to relationship with the prince of that 
element, “ I have told them who you are, do you m return tell 

m “Etthe^Flibbertigibbet,” answered Wayland Smith, “or 
else an imp of the devil in good earnest. • 10 

“Thou hast hit it,” answered Dickie Sludge; I am thme 
own Flibbertigibbet, man; and I have broken forth of 
bounds, along with my learned preceptor as I told^thee i 
would do, whether he would or not. But what lady hast 
thou got with thee? I saw thou wert at fault the first 15 
question was asked, and so I drew up for thy assistance. 
But I must know all who she is, dear Wayland. „ 

“ Thou shalt know fifty finer things, my dear ingle, said 

Wayland; “but a truce to thine inquiries just now; and 

since you are bound for Kenilworth, thither will I too, even 2 o 
for the love of thy sweet face and waggish company 

“ Thou shouldst have said my waggish face and sweet com¬ 
pany,” said Dickie; “but how wilt thou travel with us — 1 
mean in what character ? ” 

“E’en in that thou hast assigned me, to beJ sure — as a 25 
juggler; thou knowst I am used to the craft, answere 

W “Ay n but the lady?” answered Flibbertigibbet; “credit 
me, I think she is one, and thou art in a sea of troubles about 
her at this moment, as I can perceive by thyfidgetmg. 3 ® 

“ Oh she man ! — she is a poor sister of mine, saidWay 
land. ’“ She can sing and play o’ the lute, would wm the fish 

° U “ Let^m^hear'her instantly,” said the boy. “I love the 
lute rarely — I love it of all things, although I never 35 

he “Then how canst thou love it, Flibbertigibbet?” said 

W “^s n knights love ladies in old tales,” answered Dickie, 

°“ThenTove it on hearsay a little longer^ till my sister is 
recovered from the fatigue of her journey, said Wayland, 
muttering afterwards betwixt his teeth, “ The devil take the 







296 


KENIL WORTH 


keep fair weather with him > or we 

pn J? e n then proceeded to state to Master Holiday his own tal¬ 
ents as a juggler, with those of his sister as a mii«rini»n 
5 fi 0 I h G Pr ?°i f of , hls dexterity was demanded, which he gave in 

trnFm i ^ a P&rt with his supposed sister during 

5 wf C f end ’ aS Ul ‘ : , most .probable chance of remaining ’con- 

eealed, to mix in the society of those with whom she was to 

obliged^ leave°behim/thenf W ° man Wh ° m they Were ’ thus 

she^d!^^^ 

^BaTh^aTfm^™ ^ th (™ y embleToTthe wffe of' 

. +u An d when shall we reach Kenilworth ? ” said +h a ™„n+ 

With an agitation which she in vain attempted to conceal’ 



KENILWORTH 


297 


“ We that have horses may, with late riding, get to War¬ 
wick to-night, and Kenilworth may be distant some four or 
five miles; but then we must wait till the foot-people come 
up; although it is like my good Lord of Leicester will have 
horses or light carriages to meet them, and bring them up 5 
without being travel-toiled, which last is no good preparation, 
as you may suppose, for dancing before your betters. An 
vet Lord help me, I have seen the day I would have tramped 
five leagues of lea-land, and turned on my toe the whole 
evening after, as a juggler spins a pewter platter °n the P°mt 
of a needle. But age has clawed me somewhat in his 
clutch, as the song says; though, if I like the tune and lik 
my partner, I’ll dance the hays yet with any merry lass m 
Warwickshire that writes that unhappy figure four with a 

r °If l< the ) countess was overwhelmed with the garrulity of this 
good dame, Wayland Smith, on his part, had enough todo to 
sustain and parry the constant attacks made upon him by 
the indefatigable curiosity of his old acquaintance, Richard 
Sludge. Nature had given that arch youngster a prymg 20 
cast of disposition, which matched admirably with his sharp 
wit; the former inducing him to plant hunseif as a spy on 
other people’s affairs, and the latter quality leading him 
perpetually to interfere, after he had made himself master 
of that which concerned him not. He spent the livelong 25 
dav in attempting to peer under the countess s muffler, 
and apparently what he could there discern greatly sharp- 

en “That C s’isto of thine, Wayland,” he said, “ has a fair neck 
to have been born in a smithy, and a pretty taper hand to 30 
have been used for twirling a spindle; faith ill believe m 
your relationship when the crow’s egg is hatched into a 

Cy “G e o”to” said Wayland, “thou art a prating boy, and 

should be breeched for thine assurance remember 

“ Well ” said the imp, drawing off, all 1 say is, remem Dei 

you have kept a secret from me, and if I give^ h |, e ™ 

O'.v tViinp Oliver ° mv name is not Dickon feiuage . 

ThS toeafandThe dSce at which Hobgoblin kept 
fro^ him for the rest of the way, alarmed Wayland very 4° 
much and he suggested to his pretended sister that, on pr 
text of weariness, she would express a desire to stop, two or 
three miles short of the fair town of Warwick, promising to 





298 


KENILWORTH 


■ 


rejoin the troop in the morning. A small village inn afforded 
them a resting place; and it was with secret pleasure that 
Wayland saw the whole party, including Dickon, pass on, 
after a courteous farewell, and leave them behind. 

5 “ To-morrow, madam,” he said to his charge,* “ we will, 

with your leave, again start early, and reach Kenilworth 
before the rout which are to assemble there.” 

The countess gave assent to the proposal of her faithful 
guide; but, somewhat to his surprise, said nothing farther 
io on the subject, which left Wayland under the disagreeable 
uncertainty whether or no she had formed any plan for her 
own future proceedings, as he knew her situation demanded 
circumspection, although he was but imperfectly acquainted 
with all its peculiarities. Concluding, however, that she 
15 must have friends within the castle, whose advice and 
assistance she could safely trust, he supposed his task would 
be best accomplished by conducting her thither in safetv 
agreeably to her repeated commands. ' 



CHAPTER XXV 


Hark, the bells summon and the bugle calls, 

But she the fairest answers not; the tide 
Of nobles and of ladies throngs the halls, 

Rut «hp the loveliest must in secret hide. 

What eyes were thine, proud prince, which m the gleam 
Of von gay meteors lost that better sense. 

That o’er the glow-worm doth the star esteem. 

And merit’s mldest blush o’er mipp9Fm 

The unfortunate Countess of Leicester h ^’J r ^ h h -® r d !^" 
fancv upwards, been treated by those around her with mdul 
lence as unbounded as injudicious. The natural sweetness 
of her disposition had saved her from becoming insolent and 

Eared 6 EEodThe painful, but most necessary ro 

C °These difficulties pressed on the ^“tem^to'be 
overwhelming force on *i 0 S^^intermediate con- 2 o 
siderTtTon? she'had only desired to beat Kenilworth, and^to 

aid and counsel. 


299 






300 


KENILWORTH 


A sleepless night rendered her so weak in the morning that 
she was altogether unable to attend Wayland’s early sum¬ 
mons. The trusty guide became extremely distressed on the 
lady’s account, and somewhat alarmed on his own, and was 
5 on the point of going alone to Kenilworth, in the hope of dis¬ 
covering Tressilian, and intimating to him the lady’s ap¬ 
proach, when about nine in the morning he was summoned to 
attend her. He found her dressed, and ready for resuming 
her journey, but with a paleness of countenance which 
io alarmed him for her health. She intimated her desire that 
the horses might be got instantly ready, and resisted with 
impatience her guide’ s request that she would take some re¬ 
freshment before setting forward. “ I have had,” she said, 
a cup of water: the wretch who is dragged to execution 
15 needs no stronger cordial, and that may serve me which 
suffices for him; do as I command you.” Wayland Smith 
still hesitated. “ What would you have ? ” said she. “ Have 
I not spoken plainly ? ” 

“ Yes, madam,” answered Wayland; “but may I ask 
20 what is your farther purpose? I only desire to know, that 
1 may guide myself by your wishes. The whole country is. 
afloat, and streaming towards the Castle of Kenilworth It 
will be difficult travelling thither, even if we had the neces¬ 
sary passports for safe-conduct and free admittance. Un- 
25 known and unfriended, we may come by mishap. Your lady¬ 
ship will forgive my speaking my poor mind. Were we not 
the masc l uers > and again join ourselves 
with them? The countess shook her head, and her guide 
Then I see but one other remedy.” 

30 +w° U m ^ n ’> i( L the \ ac ? y ’ not dis P lea sed, perhaps, 
that he should thus offer the advice which she was ashamed 
to ask; I believe thee faithful — what wouldst thou coun- 

«^ T x hat 1 sh ° uld warn Master Tressilian,” said Wayland 
35 that you are m this place. I am right certain he would get 
to horse with a few of Lord Sussex’s followers, and ensure 
your personal safety.” 

“ Aad is , !t me y° u advise,” said the countess, “to put 
myself under the protection of Sussex, the unworthy rival of 

40 wt vlnnH L + eice , ster ? , Then > seein g the surprise with which 
Wayland stared upon her, and afraid of having too strongly 
intimated her interest in Leicester, she added, “And for 
tressilian, it must not be: mention not to him, I charge you, 





KENILWORTH 


301 


my unhappy name; it would but double my misfortunes, and 
involve him in dangers beyond the power of rescue/ 7 She 
paused; but when she observed that Wayland continued to 
look on her with that anxious and uncertain gaze which in¬ 
dicated a doubt whether her brain was settled, she assumed 5 
an air of composure, and added, “Do thou but guide me to 
Kenilworth Castle, good fellow, and thy task is ended, since I 
will then judge what farther is to be done. Thou hast yet 
been true to me; here is something that will make thee rich 

amends/ 7 10 

She offered the artist a ring, containing a valuable stone. 
Wayland looked at it, hesitated a moment, and then re¬ 
turned it. “ Not, 77 he said, “ that I am above your kindness, 
madam, being but a poor fellow, who have been forced, God 
help me! to live by worse shifts than the bounty of such a 15 
person as you. But, as my old master the farrier used to say 
to his customers, ‘ No cure, no pay. 7 We are not yet in Kenil¬ 
worth Castle, and it is time enough to discharge your guide, 
as they say, when you take your boots off. 1 trust m God 
your ladyship is as well assured of fitting reception when you 20 
arrive as you may hold yourself certain of my best endeav¬ 
ours to conduct you thither safely. I go to get the horses; 
meantime, let me pray you once more, as your poor phy¬ 
sician as well as guide, to take some sustenance. 

“I w m_ I will, 77 said the lady, hastily. “ Begone —be- 25 
gone instantly ! It is in vain I assume audacity, 77 said she, 
when he left the room; “even this poor groom sees through 
my affectation of courage, and fathoms the very ground of 

my fears. 77 ., , , . , , , . 

She then attempted to follow her gui^e s advice by taking 3 
some food, but was compelled to desist, as the effort to 
swallow even a single morsel gave her so much uneasiness 
as amounted wellnigh to suffocation. A moment after¬ 
wards the horses appeared at the latticed window; the lady 
mounted, and found that relief from the free air and change 35 
of place which is frequently experienced in similar circum- 

stances-anced weU for the countess’s purpose that Wayland 
Smith, whose previous wandering and unsettled life had 
made him acquainted with almost all England, was intimate 40 
with all the bye-roads, as well as direct communications, 
through the beautiful county of Warwick. For such and so 
great was the throng which flocked in all directions towards 





302 


KENILWORTH 


Kenilworth, to see the entry of Elizabeth into that splendid 
mansion of her prime favourite, that the principal roads 
were actually blocked up and interrupted, and it was only 
by circuitous bye-paths that the travellers could proceed on 
S their journey. 

The Queen’s purveyors had been abroad, sweeping the 
farms and villages of those articles usually exacted during a 
royal progress, and for which the owners were afterwards to 
obtain a tardy payment from the Board of Green Cloth. 0 
io The Earl of Leicester’s household officers had been scouring 
the country for the same purpose; and many of his friends 
and allies, both near and remote, took this opportunity of 
ingratiating themselves by sending large quantities of pro¬ 
visions and delicacies of all kinds, with game in huge num- 
iS bers, and whole tuns of the best liquors, foreign and domes¬ 
tic. Thus, the highroads were filled with droves of bullocks, 
sheep, calves, and hogs, and choked with loaded wains, 
whose axle-trees cracked under their burdens of wine-casks 
and hogsheads of ale, and huge hampers of grocery goods, 
20 and slaughtered game, and salted provisions, and sacks of 
flour. Perpetual stoppages took place as these wains be¬ 
came entangled; and their rude drivers, swearing and brawl¬ 
ing till their wild passions were fully raised, began to debate 
precedence with their waggon-whips and quarter-staves, 
25 which occasional riots were usually quieted by a purveyor, 
deputy-marshal’s man, or some other person in authority, 
breaking the heads of both parties. 

Here were, besides, players and mummers, jugglers and 
showmen, of every description, traversing in joyous bands 
30 the paths which led to the Palace of Princely Pleasure; for 
so the travelling minstrels had termed Kenilworth in the 
songs which already had come forth in anticipation of the 
revels which were there expected. In the midst of this 
motley show, mendicants were exhibiting their real or pre- 
35 tended miseries, forming a strange, though common, con¬ 
trast betwixt the vanities and the sorrows of human exist¬ 
ence. All these floated along with the immense tide of 
population, whom mere curiosity had drawn together; and 
where the mechanic, in his leathern apron, elbowed the dink 
40 and dainty dame, his city mistress; where clowns, with hob¬ 
nailed shoes, were treading on the kibes of substantial 
burghers and gentlemen of worship; and where Joan of the 
dairy, with robust pace, and red, sturdy arms, rowed her way 



KENILWORTH 


303 


onward, amongst those prim and pretty moppets whose sires 
were knights and squires. 

The throng and confusion was, however, of a gay and 
cheerful character. All came forth to see and to enjoy, and 
all laughed at the trifling inconveniences which at another 5 
time might have chafed their temper. Excepting the occa¬ 
sional brawls which we have mentioned among that irri¬ 
table race the carmen, the mingled sounds which arose from 
the multitude were those of light-hearted mirth and tiptoe 
jollity. The musicians preluded on their instruments, the io 
minstrels hummed their songs, the licensed jester whooped 
betwixt mirth and madness as he brandished his bauble, the 
morrice-dancers jangled their bells, the rustics hallooed and 
whistled, men laughed loud, and -maidens giggled shrill, 
while many a broad jest flew like a shuttlecock from one 15 
party, to be caught in the air and returned from the op¬ 
posite side of the road by another, at which it was aimed. 

No infliction can be so distressing to a mind absorbed in 
melancholy as being plunged into a scene of mirth and 
revelry, forming an accompaniment so dissonant from its 20 
own feelings. Yet, in the case of the Countess of Leicester, 
the noise and tumult of this giddy scene distracted her 
thoughts, and rendered her this sad service, that it became 
impossible for her to brood on her own misery, or to form 
terrible anticipations of her approaching fate. She trav- 25 
elled on, like one in a dream, following implicitly the guid¬ 
ance of Wayland, who, with great address, now threaded 
his way through the general throng of passengers, now stood 
still until a favourable opportunity occurred of again moving 
forward, and frequently turning altogether out of the direct 30 
road, followed some circuitous bye-path, which brought 
them into the highway again, after having given them the 
opportunity of traversing a considerable way with greater 
ease and rapidity. 

It was thus he avoided Warwick, within whose castle (that 35 
fairest monument of ancient and chivalrous splendour which 
yet remains uninjured by time) Elizabeth had passed the 
previous night, and where she was to tarry until past noon, 
at that time the general hour of dinner throughout England, 
after which repast she was to proceed to Kenilworth. In the 4 ° 
mean while, each passing group had something to say in the 
sovereign’s praise, though not absolutely without the usual 
mixture of satire which qualifies more or less our estimate 








304 


KENILWORTH 


of our neighbours, especially if they chance to be also our 
betters. 

“Heard you,” said one, “how graciously she spoke to 
Master Bailiff and the Recorder, and to good Master Griffin, 
5 the preacher, as they kneeled down at her coach window ? ” 

“ Ay, and how she said to little Aglionby, ‘ Master Re¬ 
corder, men would have persuaded me that you were afraid 
of me, but truly I think, so well did you reckon up to me the 
virtues of a sovereign, that I have more reason to be afraid 
io of you.’ And then with what grace she took the fair- 
wrought purse with the twenty gold sovereigns, seeming as 
though she would not willingly handle it, and yet taking it 
withal.” 

“ Ay — ay,” said another, “ her fingers closed on it pretty 
15 willingly methought, when all was done; and methought, 
too, she weighed them for a second in her hand, as she would 
say, ‘I hope they be avoirdupois/” 

“ She needed not, neighbour,” said a third; “ it is only when 
the corporation pay the accounts of a poor handicraft like me 
20 that they put him off with dipt coin. Well, there is a God 
above all. Little Master Recorder, since that is the word, 
will be greater now than ever.” 

“Come, good neighbour,” said the first speaker, “be not 
envious. She is a good queen, and a generous. She gave 
25 the purse to the Earl of Leicester.” 

“ I envious? beshrew thy heart for the word !” replied the 
handicraft. “But she will give all to the Earl of Leicester 
anon, methinks.” 

“You are turning ill, lady,” said Wayland Smith to the 
30 Countess of Leicester, and proposed that she should draw off 
from the road, and halt till she recovered. But, subduing 
her feelings at this and different speeches to the same purpose 
which caught her ear as they passed on, she insisted that her 
guide should proceed to Kenilworth with all the haste which 
35 the numerous impediments of their journey permitted. 
Meanwhile, Wayland’s anxiety at her repeated fits of indis¬ 
position and her obvious distraction of mind was hourly in¬ 
creasing, and he became extremely desirous that, according 
to her reiterated requests, she should be safely introduced 
40 into the castle, where, he doubted not, she was secure of a 
kind reception, though she seemed unwilling to reveal on 
whom she reposed her hopes. 

“ An I were once rid of this peril,” thought he, “ and if any 



KENILWORTH 


305 


r 

i] 

e 

i 

s 

t- 


i 

i 

0 

i 


t 


' 


r 

i 


I 

i 

i 


man shall find me playing squire of the body to a damosel- 
errant, he shall have leave to beat my brains out with my 
own sledge-hammer! ” 

At length the princely castle appeared, upon improving 
which, and the domains around, the Earl of Leicester had, it 5 
is said, expended sixty thousand pounds sterling, a sum equal 
to half a million of our present money. 

The outer wall of this splendid and gigantic structure in¬ 
closed seven acres, a part of which was occupied by extensive 
stables, and by a pleasure garden, with its trim arbours and io 
parterres, and the rest formed the large base-court, or outer 
yard, of the noble castle. The lordly structure itself, which 
rose near the centre of this spacious inclosure, was composed 
of a huge pile of magnificent castellated buildings, apparently 
of different ages, surrounding an inner court, and bearing, in 15 
the names attached to each portion of the magnificent mass, 
and in the armorial bearings which were there blazoned, the 
emblems of mighty chiefs who had long passed away, and 
whose history, could Ambition have lent ear to it, might have 
read a lesson to the haughty favourite who had now ac-20 
quired, and was augmenting, the fair domain. A large and 
massive keep, which formed the citadel of the castle, was 
of uncertain though great antiquity. It bore the name of 
Csesar, perhaps from its resemblance to that in the Tower of 
London so called. Some antiquaries ascribe its foundation 25 
to the time of Kenelph, from whom the castle had its name, 
a Saxon king of Mercia, and others to an early era after 
the Norman Conquest. On the exterior walls frowned the 
scutcheon of the Clintons, by whom they were founded in the 
reign of Henry I., and of the yet more redoubted Simon de3o 
Montfort, by whom, during the Barons’ Wars, Kenilworth 
was long held out against Henry III. Here Mortimer, Earl 
of March, 0 famous alike for his rise and his fall, had once 
gaily revelled in Kenilworth, while his dethroned sovereign, 
Edward II., languished in its dungeons. Old John of 35 
Gaunt, 0 “time-honoured Lancaster,” had widely extended 
the castle, erecting that noble and massive pile which yet 
bears the name of Lancaster’s Buildings; and Leicester 
himself had outdone the former possessors, princely and 
powerful as they were, by erecting another immense struc-40 
ture, which now lies crushed under .its own ruins, the monu¬ 
ment of its owner’s ambition. The external wall of this 
royal castle was, on the south and west sides, adorned and 


x 






306 


KENILWORTH 


defended by a lake partly artificial, across which Leicester 
had constructed a stately bridge, that Elizabeth might enter 
the castle by a path hitherto untrodden, instead of the usual 
entrance to the northward, over which he had erected a gate- 
5 house, or barbican, which still exists, and is equal in extent, 
and superior in architecture, to the baronial castle of many 
a northern chief. 

Beyond the lake lay an extensive chase, full of red deer, 
fallow deer, roes, and every species of game, and abounding 
io with lofty trees, from amongst which the extended front and 
massive towers of the castle were seen to rise in majesty and 
beauty. We cannot but add, that of this lordly palace, 
where princes feasted and heroes fought, now in the bloody 
earnest of storm and siege, and now in the games of chivalry, 

15 where beauty dealt the prize which valour won, all is now 
desolate. The bed of the lake is but a rushy swamp; and the 
massive ruins of the castle only serve to show what their 
splendour once was, and to impress on the musing visitor 
the transitory value of human possessions, and the happiness 
20 of those who enjoy a humble lot in virtuous contentment. 

It was with far different feelings that the unfortunate 
Countess of Leicester viewed those grey and massive towers, 
when she first beheld them rise above the embowering and 
richly shaded woods, over which they seemed to preside. 
'2$ She, the undoubted wife of the great earl, of Elizabeth’s min¬ 
ion and England’s mighty favourite, was approaching the 
presence of her husband and that husband’s sovereign un¬ 
der the protection, rather than the guidance, of a poor jug¬ 
gler ; and though unquestioned mistress of that proud castle, 

. 30 whose lightest word ought to have had force sufficient to 
make its gates leap from their massive hinges to receive her, 
yet she could not conceal from herself the difficulty and peril 
which she must experience in gaining admission into her own 
halls. 

»h The risk and difficulty, indeed, seemed to increase every 
M moment, and at length threatened altogether to put a stop 
to her farther progress, at the great gate leading to a broad 
and fair road, which, traversing the breadth of the chase for 
the space of two miles, and commanding several most beauti- 
40 ful views of the castle and lake, terminated at the newly con¬ 
structed bridge, to which it was an appendage, and which 
was destined to form the Queen’s approach to the castle on 
that memorable occasion. 




KENILWORTH 


307 


Here the countess and Wayland found the gate at the end 
of this avenue, which opened on the Warwick road, guarded 
by a body of the Queen’s mounted yeomen of the guard r 
armed in corslets richly carved and gilded, and wearing' 
morions instead of bonnets, having their carabines resting 5; 
with the butt-end on their thighs. These guards, distin¬ 
guished for strength and stature, who did duty wherever the 
Queen went in person, were here stationed under the direction 
of a pursuivant, graced with the bear and ragged staff on his 
arm, as belonging to the Earl of Leicester, and peremptorily ia> 
refused all admittance, excepting to such as were guests in¬ 
vited to the festival, or persons who were to perform some' 
part in the mirthful exhibitions which were proposed. 

The press was of consequence great around the entrance, 
and persons of all kinds presented every sort of plea for ad- 15 
mittance; to which the guards turned an inexorable ear, 
pleading in return to fair words, and even to fair offers, the 
strictness of their orders, founded on the Queen’s well-known 
dislike to the rude pressing of a multitude. With those 
whom such reasons did not serve, they dealt more rudely, 20 
repelling them without ceremony by the pressure of their 
powerful barbed horses, and good round blows from the 
stock of their carabines. These last manoeuvres produced 
undulations amongst the crowd which rendered Wayland 
much afraid that he might perforce be separated from his 25 
charge in the throng. Neither did he know w T hat excuse to 
make in order to obtain admittance, and he w r as debating 
the matter in his head with great uncertainty, when the 
earl’s pursuivant, having cast an eye upon him, exclaimed, 
to his no small surprise, “ Yeomen, make room for the fellow 30 
in the orange-tawny cloak. Come forward, sir coxcomb, 
and make haste. What, in the fiend’s name, has kept you 
waiting? Come forward with your bale of women’s gear.” 

While the pursuivant gave Wayland this pressing yet un- 
courteous invitation, which, for a minute or two, he could not 35 
imagine was applied to him, the yeomen speedily made a free 
passage for him, while, only cautioning his companion to 
keep the muffler close around her face, he entered the gate 
leading her palfrey, but with such a drooping crest, and such a 
look of conscious fear and anxiety, that the crowd, not greatly 40 
pleased at any rate with the preference bestowed upon them, 
accompanied their admission with hooting and a loud 
laugh of derision. 







308 


KENIL WORTH 


Admitted thus within the chase, though with no very 
flattering notice or distinction, Wayland and his charge rode 
forward, musing what difficulties it would be next their lot 
to encounter, through the broad avenue, which was senti- 
5 nelled on either side by a long line of retainers, armed with 
swords and partizans, richly dressed in the Earl of Leicester’s 
liveries, and bearing his cognizance of the bear and ragged 
staff, each placed within three paces of his comrade, so as to 
line the whole road from the entrance into the park to the 
10 bridge. And, indeed, when the lady obtained the first 
commanding view of the castle, with its stately towers 
rising from within a long sweeping line of outward walls, 
ornamented with battlements, and turrets, and platforms 
at every point of defence, with many a banner streaming 
15 from its walls, and such a bustle of gay crests and waving 
plumes disposed on the terraces and battlements, and all 
the gay and gorgeous scene, her heart, unaccustomed to 
such splendour, sank as if it died within her, and for a mo¬ 
ment she asked herself what she had offered up to Leicester 
20 to deserve to become the partner of this princely splendour 
But her pride and generous spirit resisted the whisper which 
bade her despair. 

“I have given him,” she said, “ all that woman has to give. 
Name and fame, heart and hand, have I given the lord of all 
25 this magnificence at the altar, and England’s queen could 
give him no more. He is my husband; I am his wife 
Whom God hath joined, man cannot sunder. I will be bold 
m claiming my right; even the bolder, that I come thus 
unexpected, and thus forlorn. I know my noble Dudley 
30 well! He will be something impatient at my disobeying 
him; but Amy will weep, and Dudley will forgive her.” 

These meditations were interrupted by a cry of surprise 
from her guide Wayland, who suddenly felt himself grasped 
firmly round the body by a pair of long thin black arms, be- 
35 longing to some one who had dropped himself out of an oak- 
tree upon the croup of his horse, amidst the shouts of laughter 
which burst from the sentinels. 

“This must be the devil or Flibbertigibbet again!” said 
Wayland, after a vain struggle to disengage himself, and un- 
4 ° horse the urchin who clung to him. “ Do Kenilworth oaks 
bear such acorns?” 

“ In sooth do they, Master Wayland,” said his unexpected 
adjunct, and many others too hard for you to crack, for as 





KENILWORTH 


309 


old as you are, without my teaching you. How would you 
have passed the pursuivant at the upper gate yonder, had 
not I warned him our principal juggler was to follow us? 
And here have I waited for you, having clambered up into 
the tree from the top of our wain, and I suppose they are all 5 
mad for want of me by this time.” 

“ Nay, then, thou art a limb of the devil in good earnest,” 
said Wayland. “ I give thee way, good imp, and will walk 
by thy counsel; only, as thou art powerful, be merciful.” 

As he spoke, they approached a strong tower, at the south io 
extremity of the long bridge we have mentioned, which 
served to protect the outer gateway of the Castle of Kenil- 
worth. 

Under such disastrous circumstances, and m such singular 
company, did the unfortunate Countess of Leicester ap-15 
proach 0 for the first time the magnificent abode of her 
I almost princely husband. 






CHAPTER XXVI 


Snug. Have you the lion’s part written? Pray you, if it be, 
give it me, for I am slow of study. 

Quince. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring. 

Midsummer Night’s Dream. 

When the Countess of Leicester arrived at the outer gate 
of the Castle of Kenilworth, she found the tower, beneath 
which its ample portal arch opened, guarded in a singular 
manner. Upon the battlements were placed gigantic warders, 
5 with clubs, battle-axes, and other implements of ancient 
warfare, designed to represent the soldiers of King Arthur; 
those primitive Britons by whom, according to romantic 
tradition, the castle had been first tenanted, though history 
carried back its antiquity only to the times of the Hep- 
io tarchy. 0 Some of these tremendous figures were real men, 
dressed up with vizards and buskins; others were mere 
pageants composed of pasteboard and buckram, which, 
viewed from beneath, and mingled with those that were 
real, formed a sufficiently striking representation of what 
15 was intended. But the gigantic porter who waited at the 
gate beneath, and actually discharged the duties of warder, 
owed none of his terrors to fictitious means. He was a man 
whose huge stature, thewes, sinews, and bulk in proportion, 
would have enabled him to enact Colbrand, 0 Ascapart, 
20 or any other giant of romance, without raising himself 
nearer to heaven even by the altitude of a chopin. 0 The 
legs and knees of this son of Anak 0 were bare, as were his 
arms, from a span below the shoulder; but his feet were 
defended with sandals, fastened with cross straps of scarlet 
25 leather, studded with brazen knobs. A close jerkin of 
scarlet velvet, looped with gold, with short breeches of the 
same, covered his body and a part of his limbs; and he wore 
on his shoulders, instead of a cloak, the skin of a black bear. 
The head of this formidable person was uncovered, except 
30 by his shaggy black hair, which descended on either side 
around features of that huge, lumpish, and heavy cast 
which are often annexed to men of very uncommon size, 

310 


KENILWORTH 


311 


and which, notwithstanding some distinguished exceptions, 
have created a general prejudice against giants, as being a 
dull and sullen kind of persons. This tremendous warder 
was appropriately armed with a heavy club spiked with 
steel. In fine, he represented excellently one of + t 1 ho ®® 5 
giants of popular romance who figure m every fairy tale or 

l68 |he demeanour ^f** this modern Titan, when Wayland 
Smith bent his attention to him, had in it something arguing 
much mental embarrassment and vexation; for sometimes io 
he sat down for an instant on a massive stone bench, which 
seemed placed for his accommodation beside the gateway, and 
then ever and anon he started up, scratching his huge head, 
and striding to and fro on his post, like one under a fit ol 
impatience and anxiety. It was while the porter-waspacing x S 
before the gate in this agitated manner that Wayland, 
modestly, yet as a matter of course (not, however, without 
some mental misgiving), was about to pass him and enter 
the portal arch. The porter, however, stopped ^ progress, 
bidding him, in a thundering voice, Stand back . and 20 
enforcing his injunction by heaving up his steel-shod mace, 
and dashing it on the ground before Wayland s horse s nose 
whh such vehemence that the pavement flashed fire and the 
archway rang to the clamour. Wayland, availing himself 
oi Dickie’s hint, began to state that he belonged to a band 25 
of performers to which his presence was indispensable, that 
he had been accidentally detained behind, and . 
same purpose. But the warder was inexorable, and kept 
muttering and murmuring something betwixt his teeth, 
which wlyland could make little of; and addressing be-30 
Twixt Whfles a refusal of admittance, couched inlanguage 
wM?h was but too intelligible. A specimen of his speech 
mkrht run thus: “ What, how now, my masters? (io him- 
Slf 1 “Here’s a stir-here’s a coil. (Then to Wayland) _ 
You are a loitering knave, and shall have no entrance. 35 
(Aeain to himself) Here’s a throng — here s a thrusting. 

I shall 1 ne’er get through with it. Here s a - humph - ha 
(To Wayland) Back from the gate, or I’ll break the pate of 
thee J)nce more to himself) Here’s a- no, I shall neyer ^ 

ge “ Stend g stin,” whispered Flibbertigibbet into Wayland’s 
ear; “I know where the shoe pinches, and will tame him in 
an instant.” 




312 


KENILWORTH 


He dropped down from the horse, and skipping up to the 
porter, plucked him by the tail of the bearskin, so as to in¬ 
duce him to decline his huge head, and whispered something 
in his ear. Not at the command of the lord of some Eastern 
5 talisman did ever Afrite 0 change his horrid frown into a look 
of smooth submission more suddenly than the gigantic 
porter of Kenilworth relaxed the terrors of his look at the 
instant Flibbertigibbet’s whisper reached his ears. He flung 
his club upon the ground and caught up Dickie Sludge, 
io raising him to such a distance from the earth as might have 
proved perilous had he chanced to let him slip. 

“ It is even so,” he said, with a thundering sound of exul¬ 
tation — “it is even so, my little dandieprat. But who the 
devil could teach it thee?” 


x 5 Do not thou care about that,” said Flibbertigibbet: 
but —- he looked at Wayland and the lady, and then sunk 
what he had to say in a whisper, which needed not be 
a loud one, as the giant held him for his convenience close to 
his ear. The porter then gave Dickie a warm caress, and set 
20 him on the ground with the same care which a careful house¬ 
wife uses in replacing a cracked china cup upon her mantel¬ 
piece, calling out at the same time to Wayland and the lady, 
In with you in with you; and take heed how you come 
too late another day when I chance to be porter.” 

25 “ Ay — ay, in with you,” added Flibbertigibbet; “ I must 

stay a short space with mine honest Philistine, my Goliath of 
Gath here; but I will be with you anon, and at the bottom 
of all secrets, were they as deep and dark as the castle 
dungeon. 

“I do believe thou wouldst,” said Wayland; “but I trust 
the secret will be soon out of my keeping, and then I shall 
care the less whether thou or any one knows it.” 

They now crossed the entrance tower, which obtained the 
name of the Gallery Tower from the following circumstance: 
35 the whole bridge, extending from the entrance to another 
tower on the opposite side of the lake, called Mortimer’s 
lower, was so disposed as to make a spacious tilt-yard, 
about one hundred and thirty yards in length and ten in 
breadth, strewed with the finest sand, and defended on either 
40 side by strong and high palisades. The broad and fair 
gahery, destined for the ladies who were to witness the feats 
° c ^ 11 .P resen kd on this area, was erected on the north¬ 
ern side of the outer tower to which it gave name. Our 


30 


KENILWORTH 


313 


travellers passed slowly along the bridge or tilt-yard, and, 
arrived at Mortimer’s Tower, at its farthest extremity 
through which the approach led into the outer or base court 
of the castle. Mortimer’s Tower bore on its front the scutch¬ 
eon of the Earl of March, whose daring ambition overthrew 5 
the throne of Edward II., and aspired to share his power 
with the “ She-wolf of France, 0 ” to whom the unhappy 
monarch was wedded. The gate which opened under 
this ominous memorial was guarded by many warders in rich 
liveries; but they offered no opposition to the entrance of the 10 
countess and her guide, who, having passed by license of the 
principal porter at the Gallery Tower, were not, it may be 
supposed, liable to interruption from his deputies. They en¬ 
tered accordingly, in silence, the great outward court of the 
castle, having then full before them that vast and lordly pile, 15 
with all its stately towers, each gate open, as if in sign of 
unlimited hospitality, and the apartments filled with noble 
guests of every degree, besides dependants, retainers, domes¬ 
tics of every description, and all the appendages and pro¬ 
moters of mirth and revelry. . 20 

Amid this stately and busy scene, Wayland halted his 
horse, and looked upon the lady, as if waiting her commands 
what was next to be done, since they had safely reached the 
place of destination. As she remained silent, Wayland, after 
waiting a minute or two, ventured to ask her, in direct terms, 25 
what were her next commands. She raised her hand to her 
forehead, as if in the act of collecting her thoughts and reso¬ 
lutions, while she answered him in a low and suppressed 
voice, like the murmurs of one who speaks in a dream. 

“ Commands ! I may indeed claim right to command, but 30 
who is there will obey me?” 

Then suddenly raising her head, like one who has formed 
a decisive resolution, she addressed a gaily dressed domestic, 
who was crossing the court with importance and bustle in his 
countenance. “ Stop, sir,” she said, “ I desire to speak with 35 
the Earl of Leicester.” . 

“With whom, an it please you?” said the man, surprised 
at the demand; and then looking upon the mean equipage of 
her who used towards him such a tone of authority he added 
with insolence, “ Why, what Bess of Bedlam 0 is this, would 40 
ask to see my lord on such a day as the present ? ” 

“ Friend,” said the countess, “be not insolent; my business 
with the earl is most urgent.” 




314 


KENILWORTH 


“ You must get some one else to do it, were it thrice as 
^gent, said the fellow. “I should summon my lord from 
the Queen’s royal presence to do your business, should I? 
I were like to be thanked with a horsewhip. I marvel our old 
5 porter took not measure of such ware with his club, instead 
of giving them passage; but his brain is addled with getting 
his speech by heart.” 

Two or three persons stopped, attracted by the fleering 
way m which the serving-man expressed himself; and Way- 
io land, alarmed both for himself and the lady, hastily addressed 
himself to one who appeared the most civil, and thrusting 
a piece of money into his hand, held a moment’s counsel with 
the subject of finding a place of temporary retreat for 
the lady. The person to whom he spoke, being one in some 
iS authority, rebuked the others for their incivility, and com¬ 
manding one fellow to take care of the stranger’s horses he 
desired them to follow him. The countess retained pres¬ 
ence of mind sufficient to see that it was absolutely nec¬ 
essary she should comply with his request; and, leaving the 
20 rude lackeys and grooms to crack their brutal jests about 
light heads, light heels, and so forth, Wayland and she 
followed m silence the deputy-usher, who undertook to be 
their conductor. 

They entered the inner court of the castle by the great gate- 
25 way, which extended betwixt the principal keep, or donjon, 
called Caesar’ s Tower, and a stately building which passed by 
the name of King Henry’s Lodging, and were thus placed in 
the centre of the noble pile, which presented on its different 
fronts magnificent specimens of every species of castel- 
30 L at + l d ar .^ lt L e 1 f ture, from the Conquest to the reign of Eliza¬ 
beth, with the appropriate style and ornaments of each. 

Across this inner court also they were conducted by their 

Jk s ^ ong tower > occupying the northeast 

angle of the building adjacent to the great hall, and filling up 

35 ° e l ™ me ™ e ran S e of kitchens and the end 

of the great hall itself. The lower part of this tower was 
occupied by some of the household officers of Leicester 
owing to its convenient vicinity to the places where their 
duty lay; but m the upper story, which was reached by a 
40 narrow winding stair was a small octangular chamber, which 
m the great demand for lodgings, had been on the present 
occasion fitted up for the reception of guests, though gen¬ 
erally said to have been used as a place of confinement for 


KENILWORTH 


315 


some unhappy person who had been there murdered. Tradi¬ 
tion called this prisoner Mervyn, and transferred his name 
to the tower. That it had been used as a prison was not 
improbable; for the floor of each story was arched, the walls 
of tremendous thickness, while the space of the chamber 5 
did not exceed fifteen feet in diameter. The window, 
however, was pleasant, though narrow, and commanded a 
delightful view of what was called the Pleasance a space 
of ground inclosed and decorated with arches, trophies, 
statues, fountains, and other architectural monuments, 10 
which formed one access from the castle itself into the 
garden There was a bed in the apartment, and other pre- 
parations for the reception of a guest, to which the countess 
paid but slight attention, her notice being instantly arrested 
by the sight of writing-materials, placed on the table (not 5 
very commonly to be found in the bedrooms of those days), 
which instantly suggested the idea of writing to Leicester, 
and remaining private until she had received his answer. 

The deputy-usher, having introduced them into this com¬ 
modious apartment/courteously asked Wayland, whose gen- 20 
erosity he had experienced, whether he could do any thing far¬ 
ther for his service. Upon receiving a gentle hint that some 
refreshment would not be unacceptable, he presently con¬ 
veyed the smith to the buttery-hatch where dressed provi- 
sions of all sorts were distributed, with hospitable profusion, 25 
to all who asked for them. Wayland was readily supplied 
with some light provisions, such as he thought would best 
suit the faded appetite of the lady, and did not omit the 
opportunity of himself making a hasty but hearty meal on 
more substantial fare. He then returned to the apartment 30 
in the turret, where he found the countess, who had finished 
her letter to Leicester; and, in lieu of a seal and silken thread, 
had secured it with a braid of her own beautiful tresses, 
fastened by what is called a true-love knot. 

“ Good friend/' said she to Wayland, whom God hath 35 
sent to aid me at my utmost need, I do beseech thee, as the 
last trouble you shall take for an unfortunate lady^ to 
deliver this letter to the noble Earl of Leicester. Be it 
received as it may,” she said, with features agitated be- 
IwTxt hope and f elr, “thou good 1fellow shah.havei no.more 40 
cumber with me. But I hope the best; and if ever lady 
madea poor man rich, thou hast surely deserved it at my 
hand, should my happy days ever come round again. Give 








316 


KENILWORTH 


iSSStHS- 

5S?S“-r"SS 

sSaa.’wsaas rr bi - >Et 

, sssssssssr= 

underwhich she seemed to la W “w^tand 0 ^ for" 
not improbable opinion that the difficulties orher Stnfr h ® 
2 o h m™°T l eg i ee affe cted her understanding. Sltuatlon 

Place, and the da nfem P to iMiL^h 66 ^ 1 "^” of Cumn 9 r 
would have seemed her most rational . Wa ' S ^+ re exposed, it 
father’s or elsewhere atTdltanl ? COU J? e to retire to her 
by whom these dangers had been created 116 Svi” °- f those 

so frust^I’i 

and within £ Va rney, 

press authority, all the evils she S ’, f “?* under hls ex- 
inflicted upon her. This seemed an uni r f ady 5 uffered were 
perate, measure, and Wavland felt f r’ a ? d even a des " 

35 h S f Well u S that of the lady, shouldhe eiecut^her ° Wn Safe - ty ’ 
before he had secured tho aHv^. ne execute her commission 

tector. He therefore JesoHed h^ n d coa ^nance of a pro¬ 
to Leicester, that he would seek ouT TriSJr mg th ®, letter 
municate to him the arrival of tL 1 ^ rr< fsilian, and com- 

40 voCkT^ 

service? 011 ^ Pat ™ Who had ** 


KENILWORTH 


317 


“He will be a better judge than I am,” said Wayland, 
“whether she is to be gratified in this humour of appeal to my 
Lord of Leicester, which seems like an act of insanity; and, 
therefore, I will turn the matter over on his hands, deliver 
him the letter, receive what they list to give me by way of 5 
guerdon, and then show the Castle of Kenilworth a pair of 
light heels; for, after the work I have been engaged m, it 
will be, I fear, neither a safe nor wholesome place of resi¬ 
dence * and I would rather shoe colts on the coldest common 
in England than share in their gayest revels. 



CHAPTER XXVII 


In my time I have seen a boy do wonders. 

Robin, the red tinker, had a boy 
Would ha’ run through a cat-hole. 

The Coxcomb. 


Amid the universal bustle which filled the castle and its 
environs, it was no easy matter to find out any individual • 
and Wayland was still less likely to light upon Tressilian’ 
whom he sought so anxiously, because, sensible of the danger 
5 of attracting attention, in the circumstances in which he was 
placed, he dared not make general inquiries among the re¬ 
tainers or domestics of Leicester. He learned, however bv 
indirect questions, that, in all probability, Tressilian must 
have been one of a large party of gentlemen in attendance on 
io the Rarl ot bussex, who had accompanied their patron that 
morning to Kenilworth, when Leicester had received them 
with marks of the most formal respect and distinction. He 
farther learned that both earls, with their followers and 
many other nobles, knights, and gentlemen, had taken horse 
15 and gone towards Warwick several hours since, for the pur¬ 
pose of escorting the Queen to Kenilworth 

Her Majesty’s arrival, like other great events, was delayed 
from Imur to hour; and it was now announced by a breath¬ 
less post that, her Majesty being detained by her gracious 
20 desire to receive the homage of her lieges who had thronged 
to wait upon her at Warwick, it would be the hour of twi¬ 
light ere she entered the castle. The intelligence released for 
a time those who were upon duty in the immediate expecta- 
tmn of the Queen s appearance, and ready to play their part 
25 w h ? s ° lemm . ties Wlth which it was to be accompanied; and 
^H&\ Seemg l e Z eT ^ 1 ho .^ emen en ter the castle, was not 
TW ^ h -°^ S ^ Tressillan might be of the number, 
that he might not lose an opportunity of meeting his patron 

20 in tbP bltp 1 ° f fVST* tl J? Case ’ Wa y land Placed himself 
30 m the base-court of the castle, near Mortimer’s Tower and 

watched every one who went or came by the bridge' the 

318 






KENILWORTH 


319 


extremity of which was protected by that building. Thus 
stationed, nobody could enter or leave the castle without his 
observation, and most anxiously did he study the garb and 
countenance of every horseman, as, passing from under the 
opposite Gallery Tower, they paced slowly, or curvetted, 5 
along the tilt-yard, and approached the entrance of the base- 


court. 

But while Wayland gazed thus eagerly to discover him 
whom he saw not, he was pulled by the sleeve by one by 
whom he himself would not willingly have been seen. 10 

This was Dickie Sludge, or Flibbertigibbet, who, like the 
imp whose name he bore, and whom he had been accoutred 
in order to resemble, seemed to be ever at the ear of those 
who thought least of him. Whatever were Wayland’s in¬ 
ternal feelings, he judged it necessary to express pleasure at 15 
their unexpected meeting. 

“Ha? is it thou, my minikin 0 — my miller’s thumb — 
my prince of cacodemons 0 — my little mouse ? ” 

“Ay,” said Dickie, “the mouse which gnawed asunder the 
toils, just when the lion who was caught in them began to 20 
look wonderfully like an ass.” 

“Why, thou little hop-the-gutter, thou art as sharp as 
vinegar this afternoon I But tell me, how didst thou come 
off with yonder jolter-headed giant, whom I left thee with? 

I was afraid he would have stripped thy clothes, and so swal- 25 
lowed thee, as men peel and eat a roasted chestnut.” 

“Had he done so,” replied the boy, “he would have had 
more brains in his guts than ever he had in his noddle. 
But the giant is a courteous monster, and more grateful than 
many other folk whom I have helped at a pinch, Master 30 

Wayland Smith.” , _ _ .... 

“Beshrew me, Flibbertigibbet, replied Wayland, but 
thou art sharper than a Sheffield whittle 0 ! I would I knew 
by what charm you muzzled yonder old bear.” 

“ Ay, that is in your own manner,” answered Dickie: you 35 
think fine speeches will pass muster instead of good-will. 
However, as to this honest porter, you must know that, when 
we presented ourselves at the gate yonder, his brain was 
overburdened with a speech that had been penned for him, 
and which proved rather an overmatch for his gigantic facul- 40 
ties. Now this same pithy oration had been indited, like 
sundry others, by my learned magister, Erasmus Holiday, so 
I had heard it often enough to remember every line. As 




320 


KENILWORTH 


soon as I heard him blundering and floundering, like a fish 
upon dry land, through the first verse, and perceived him at 
a stand, I knew where the shoe pinched, and helped him to 
the next word, when he caught me up in an ecstasy, even as 
5 you saw but now. I promised, as the price of your ad¬ 
mission, to hide me under his bearish gaberdine and prompt 
him in the hour of need. I have just now been getting some 
food in the castle, and am about to return to him.” 

“ That’s right — that’s right, my dear Dickie,” replied 
ioWayland; “haste thee, for Heaven’s sake! else the poor 
giant will be utterly disconsolate for want of his dwarfish 
auxiliary. Away with thee, Dickie! ” 

“Ay — ay!” answered the boy. “Away with Dickie, 
when we have got what good of him we can. You will not 
islet me know the story of this lady, then, who is as much 
sister of thine as I am?” 

“Why, what good would it do thee, thou silly elf?” said 
Wayland. 

“Oh, stand ye on these terms?” said the boy. “Well, I 
20 care not greatly about the matter; only, I never smell out a 
secret, but I try to be either at the right or the wrong end of 
it, and so good evening to ye.” 

“Nay, but, Dickie,” said Wayland, who knew the boy’s 
restless and intriguing disposition too well not to fear his 
25 enmity — “stay, my dear Dickie; part not with old friends 
so shortly! Thou shalt know all I know of the lady one day.” 

“ Ay ! ” said Dickie; “ and that day may prove a nigh one. 
Fare thee well, Wayland; I will to my large-limbed friend, 
who, if he have not so sharp a wit as some folk, is at least 
30 more grateful for the service which other folk render him. 
And so again, good evening to ye.” 

So saying, he cast a somerset through the gateway, and, 
lighting on the bridge, ran, with the extraordinary agility 
which was one of his distinguishing attributes, towards the 
35 Gallery Tower, and was out of sight in an instant. 

“I would to God I were safe out of this castle again!” 
prayed Wayland, internally; “for now that this mischiev¬ 
ous imp has put his finger in the pie, it cannot but prove a 
mess fit for the devil’s eating. I would to Heaven Master 
40 Tressilian would appear ! ” 

Tressilian, whom he was thus anxiously expecting in one 
direction, had returned to Kenilworth by another access. It 



KENIL WORTH 


321 


was indeed true, as Wayland had conjectured, that, in the 
I earlier part of the day, he had accompanied the earls on their 
cavalcade towards Warwick, not without hope that he 
might in that town hear some tidings of his emissary. Being 
disappointed in this expectation, and observing Varneys 
amongst Leicester’s attendants, seeming as if he had some 
j purpose of advancing to and addressing him, he conceived, 
l in the present circumstances, it was wisest to avoid the inter- 
j view. He therefore left the presence-chamber when the 
I high-sheriff of the county was in the very midst of his duti- i° 
ful address to her Majesty; and, mounting his horse, rode 
back to Kenilworth by a remote and circuitous road, and 
entered the castle by a small sally-port in the western wall, 
at which he was readily admitted as one of the followers of 
the Earl of Sussex, towards whom Leicester had commanded 15 
the utmost courtesy to be exercised. It was thus that he 
met not Wayland, who was impatiently watching his arrival, 
and whom he himself would have been, at least, equally 
desirous "to see 

Having delivered his horse to the charge of his attendant, 20 
he walked for a space in the Pleasance and in the garden, 
rather to indulge in comparative solitude his own reflections 
than to admire those singular beauties of nature and art 
which the magnificence of Leicester had there assembled. 
The greater part of the persons of condition had left the 25 
castle for the present, to form part of the earl’s cavalcade; 
others, who remained behind, were on the battlements, 
outer walls, and towers, eager to view the splendid spectacle 
of the royal entry. The garden, therefore, while every other 
part of the castle resounded with the human voice, was silent, 3 ° 
but for the whispering of the leaves, the emulous warbling 
of the tenants of a large aviary, with their happier com¬ 
panions who remained denizens of the free air, and the 
plashing of the fountains which, forced into the air from 
sculptures of fantastic and grotesque forms, fell down with 35 
ceaseless sound into the great basins of Italian marble. 

The melancholy thoughts of Tressilian cast a gloomy shade 
on all the objects with which he was surrounded. He com¬ 
pared the magnificent scenes which he here traversed with 
the deep woodland and wild moorland which surrounded 40 
Lidcote Hall, and the image of Amy Robsart glided like a 
phantom through every landscape which his imagination 
summoned up. Nothing is perhaps more dangerous to the 

Y 






322 


KENILWORTH 


future happiness of men of deep thought and retired habits 
than the entertaining an early, long, and unfortunate at¬ 
tachment. It frequently sinks so deep into the mind that it 
becomes their dream by night and their vision by day, mixes 
5 with every source of interest and enjoyment; and, when 
blighted and withered by final disappointment, it seems as if 
the springs of the spirit were dried up along with it. This 
aching of the heart, this languishing after a shadow which 
has lost all the gaiety of its colouring, this dwelling on the 
io remembrance of a dream from which we have been long 
roughly awakened, is the weakness of a gentle and generous 
heart, and it was that of Tressilian. 

He himself at length became sensible of the necessity of 
forcing other objects upon his mind; and for this purpose he 
15 left the Pleasance, in- order to mingle with the noisy crowd 
upon the walls, and view the preparation for the pageants. 
But as he left the garden, and heard the busy hum, mixed 
with music and laughter, which floated around him, he felt 
an uncontrollable reluctance to mix with society whose feel- 
20 ings were in a tone so different from his own, and resolved, 
instead of doing so, to retire to the chamber assigned him' 
and employ himself in study until the tolling of the great 
castle bell should announce the arrival of Elizabeth. 

Tressilian crossed accordingly by the passage betwixt the 
25 immense range of kitchens and the great hall, and ascended 
to the third story of Mervyn’s Tower, and applying himself 
to the door of the small apartment which had been allotted to 
him, was surprised to find it was locked. He then recol¬ 
lected that the deputy-chamberlain had given him a master- 
30 key, advising him, in the present confused state of the castle, 
to keep his door as much shut as possible. He applied this 
key to the lock, the bolt revolved, he entered, and in the 
same instant saw a female form seated in the apartment, and 
recognised that form to be Amy Robsart. His first idea was, 
35 that a heated imagination had raised the image on which it 
doted into visible existence; his second, that he beheld an 
apparition; the third and abiding conviction, that it was 
Amy herself, paler, indeed, and thinner than in the days of 
heedless happiness, when she possessed the form and hue of 
40 a wood-nymph, with the beauty of a sylph; but still Amy 
unequalled in loveliness by aught which had ever visited his 
eyes. 

The astonishment of the countess was scarce less than that 



KENILWORTH 


323 


of Tressilian, although it was of shorter duration, because she 
had heard from Wayland that he was in the castle. She had 
started up at his first entrance, and now stood facing him, 
the paleness of her cheeks having given way to a deep blush. 
“Tressilian,” she said, at length, “why come you here?” 5 
“Nay, why come you here, Amy,” returned Tressilian, 

« unless it be at length to claim that aid which, as far as one 
man’s heart and arm can extend, shall instantly be rendered 


to you?” . 

She was silent a moment, and then answered m a sorrowful io 
rather than an angry tone: “I require no aid, Tressilian, and 
would rather be injured than benefited by any which your 
kindness can offer me. Believe me, I am near one whom law 
and love oblige to protect me.” . 

“ The villain, then, hath done you the poor justice which 15 
remained in his power,” said Tressilian; “and I behold be¬ 
fore me the wife of Varney?” 

“The wife of Varney !” she replied, with all the emphasis 
of scorn. “With what base name, sir, does your boldness 

stigmatise the — the — the-” She hesitated, dropped 20 

her tone of scorn, looked down, and was confused and silent; 
for she recollected what fatal consequences might attend her 
completing the sentence with “the Countess of Leicester, 
which were the words that had naturally suggested them¬ 
selves. It would have been a betrayal of the secret, on 25 
which her husband had assured her that his fortunes de¬ 
pended, to Tressilian, to Sussex, to the Queen and to the 
whole assembled court. “ Never,” she thought, will I break 
my promised silence. I will submit to every suspicion rather 

than that.” rp 30 

The tears rose to her eyes as she stood silent before dres- 
silian; while, looking on her with mingled grief and pity,, he 
said, “ Alas ! Amy, your eyes contradict your tongue. I hat 
speaks of a protector, willing and able to watch over you ; 
but these tell me you are ruined, and deserted by the wretch 35 
to whom you have attached yourself. 

She looked on him, with eyes in which anger sparkled 
through her tears, but only repeated the word wretch! 
with a scornful emphasis. , , , ,, 

« Yes, wretch! ” said Tressilian; “ for were he aught better, 40 
why are you here, and alone, in my apartment? Why was 
not fitting provision made for your honourable reception ? 

“In your apartment?” repeated Amy — “in your apart- 






324 


KENILWORTH 


ment? It shall instantly be relieved of my presence.” She 
hastened towards the door; but the sad recollection of her 
deserted state at once pressed on her mind, and, pausing on 
the threshold, she added, in a tone unutterably pathetic, 

5 “ Alas ! I had forgot; I know not where to go-” 

“ I see —-1 see it all,” said Tressilian, springing to her side, 
and leading her back to the seat, on which she sunk down. 
“ You do need aid — you do need protection, though you will 
not own it; and you shall not need it long. Leaning on my 
io arm, as the representative of your excellent and broken¬ 
hearted father, on the very threshold of the castle gate, you 
shall meet Elizabeth; and the first deed she shall do in the 
halls of Kenilworth shall be an act of justice to her sex and 
her subjects. Strong in my good cause and in the Queen’s 
iS justice, the power of her minion shall not shake my resolu¬ 
tion. I will instantly seek Sussex.” 

“Not for all that is under heaven!” said the countess, 
much alarmed, and feeling the absolute necessity of obtain¬ 
ing time, at least, for consideration. “ Tressilian, you were 
20 wont to be generous. Grant me one request, and believe, if 
it be your wish to save me from misery and from madness, 
you will do more by making me the promise I ask of you than 
Elizabeth can do for me with all her power! ” 

“ Ask me anything for which you can allege reason,” said 

25 Tressilian; “but demand not of me-” 

“Oh, limit not your boon, dear Edmund !” exclaimed the 
countess, — “ you once loved that I should call you so, — 
limit not your boon to reason ! for my case is all madness, 
and frenzy must guide the counsels which alone can aid me.”’ 
30 “ If you speak thus wildly,” said Tressilian, astonishment 

again overpowering both his grief and his resolution, “ I must 
believe you indeed incapable of thinking or acting for your¬ 
self.” 

(l “ Oh no ! ” she exclaimed, sinking on one knee before him, 
35 I am not mad. I am but a creature unutterably miserable, 
and, from circumstances the most singular, dragged on to a 
precipice by the arm of him who thinks he is keeping me 
from it — even by yours, Tressilian — by yours, whom I 
have honoured, respected, all but loved — and yet loved, 
40 too loved, too, Tressilian, though not as you wished me.” 

There was an energy — a self-possession — an abandon¬ 
ment in her voice and manner — a total resignation of her¬ 
self to his generosity, which, together with the kindness of 







KENILWORTH 


325 


her expressions to himself, moved him deeply. He raised 
her, and in broken accents entreated her to be comforted. 

“ I cannot,” she said, “ I will not be comforted till you 
grant me my request! I will speak as plainly as I dare. I 
am now awaiting the commands of one who has a right to 5 
issue them. The interference of a third person — of you in 
especial, Tressilian — will be ruin — utter ruin to me. Wait 
but four-and-twenty hours, and it may be that the poor Amy 
may have the means to show that she values, and can re¬ 
ward, your disinterested friendship — that she is happy her- 10 
self, and has the means to make you so. It is surely worth 
your patience, for so short a space?” 

Tressilian paused, and weighing in his mind the various 
probabilities which might render a violent interference on his 
part more prejudicial than advantageous, both to the happi- 15 
ness and reputation of Amy; considering also that she was 
within the walls of Kenilworth, and could suffer no injury in 
a castle honoured with the Queen’s residence, and filled with 
her guards and attendants, he conceived, upon the whole, 
that he might render her more evil than good service by 20 
intruding upon her his appeal to Elizabeth in her behalf. 
He expressed his resolution cautiously, however, doubting 
naturally whether Amy’s hopes of extricating herself from 
her difficulties rested on anything stronger than a blinded 
attachment to Varney, whom he supposed to be her seducer. 25 

“ Amy,” he said, while he fixed his sad and expressive eyes 
on hers, which, in her ecstasy of doubt, terror, and per- 
plexity she cast up towards him,“ I have ever remarked that, 
when others called thee girlish and wilful, there lay under 
that external semblance of youthful and self-willed folly 30 
deep feeling and strong sense. In this I will confide, 
trusting your own fate in your own hands for the space of 
twenty-four hours, without my interference by word or act. 

“Do you promise me this, Tressilian?” said the countess. 

“Is it possible you can yet repose so much confidence in me? 35 
Do you promise, as you are a gentleman and a man of hon¬ 
our to intrude in my matters neither by speech nor action, 
whatever you may see or hear that seems to you to demand 
your interference? Will you so far trust me? 

“I will, upon my honour,” said Tressilian; but when 4 ° 

that space is expired-” . . . , ,. , . 

“ When that space is expired,” she said, interrupting him, 
“you are free to act as your judgment shall determine. 





326 


KENILWORTH 


“ Is there nought besides which I can do for you, Amy ? ” 
said Tressilian. 

“Nothing/’ said she, “save to leave me; that is, if— I 
blush to acknowledge my helplessness by asking it — if you 
5 can spare me the use of this apartment for the next twenty- 
four hours.” 

“ This is most wonderful! ” said Tressilian; “ what hope or 
interest can you have in a castle where you cannot command 
even an apartment?” 

io “Argue not, but leave me,” she said; and added, as he 
slowly and unwillingly retired, “ Generous Edmund! the 
time may come when Amy may show she deserved thy noble 
attachment.” 




CHAPTER XXVIII 


What, man, ne’er lack a draught, when the full can 
Stands at thine elbow, and craves emptying ! 

Nay, fear not me, for I have no delight 
To watch men’s vices, since I have myself 
Of virtue nought to boast of. I’m a striker, 

Would have the world strike with me, pell-mell, all. 

Pandcemonium. 

Tressilian, in strange agitation of mind, had hardly 
stepped down the first two or three steps of the winding stair¬ 
case, when, greatly to his surprise and displeasure, he met 
Michael Lambourne, wearing an impudent familiarity of 
visage, for which Tressilian felt much disposed to throw him 5 
downstairs; until he remembered the prejudice which Amy, 
the only object of his solicitude, was likely to receive from 
his engaging in any act of violence at that time and in that 
place. 

He, therefore, contented himself with looking sternly upon 10 
Lambourne, as upon one whom he deemed unworthy of 
notice, and attempted to pass him in his way downstairs 
without any symptom of recognition. But Lambourne, 
who, amidst the profusion of that day’s hospitality, had not 
failed to take a deep, though not an overpowering, cup of 15 
sack, was not in the humour of humbling himself before 
any man’s looks. He stopped Tressilian upon the staircase 
without the least bashfulness or embarrassment, and ad¬ 
dressed him as if they had been on kind and intimate terms: 

“ What, no grudge between us, I hope, upon old scores, 20 
Master Tressilian? Nay, I am one who remember former 
kindness rather than later feud. I’ll convince you that I 
meant honestly and kindly, ay, and comfortably, by you.” 

“I desire none of your intimacy,” said Tressilian; “keep 
company with your mates.” 2 5 

“Now, see how hasty he is!” said Lambourne; “and 
how these gentles, that are made questionless out of the 
porcelain clay of the earth, look down upon poor Michael 

327 




328 


KENIL WORTH 


Lambourne ! You would take Master Tressilian now for the 
most maid-like, modest, simpering squire of dames that 
ever made love when candles were long i’ the stuff —- snuff 
—■ call you it ? Why, you would play the saint on us, 
5 Master Tressilian, and forget that even now thou hast a 
commodity in thy very bedchamber, to the shame of my 
lord’s castle — ha! ha! ha! Have I touched you, Master 
Tressilian ? ” 

“I know not what you mean,” said Tressilian, inferring, 
io however, too surely that this licentious ruffian must have 
been sensible of Amy’s presence in his apartment; “but if,” 
he continued, “ thou art varlet of the chambers, and lackest 
a fee, there is one to leave mine unmolested.” 

Lambourne looked at the piece of gold, and put it in his 
15 pocket, saying: “ Now I know not but you might have done 
more with me by a kind word than by this chiming rogue. 
But after all, he pays well that pays with gold; and Mike 
Lambourne was never a make-bate, or a spoil-sport, or the 
like. E’en live and let others live, that is my motto; 
20 only, I would not let some folks cock their beaver at me 
neither, as if they were made of silver ore and I of Dutch 
pewter. So, if I keep your secret, Master Tressilian, you 
may look sweet on me at least; and were I to want a little 
backing or countenance, being caught, as you see the best 
25 of us may be, in a sort of peccadillo — why, you owe it me; 
and so e’en make your chamber serve you and that same 
bird in bower beside — it’s all one to Mike Lambourne.” 

“Make way, sir,” said Tressilian, unable to bridle his in¬ 
dignation; “you have had your fee.” 

30 “Um !” said Lambourne, giving place, however, while he 
sulkily muttered between his teeth, repeating Tressilian’s 
words — “‘Make way’—and‘you have had your fee’; but 
it matters not. I will spoil no sport, as I said before; I am 
no dog in the manger, mind that.” 

35 He spoke louder and louder, as Tressilian, by whom he 
felt himself overawed, got farther and farther out of hearing. 

“Iam no dog in the manger; but I will not carry coals 
neither, mind that, my Master Tressilian; and I will have a 
peep at this wench, whom you have quartered so com- 
40 modiously in your old haunted room, afraid of ghosts, belike, 
and not too willing to sleep alone. If I had done this now in 
a strange lord’s castle, the word had been, ‘The porter’s 
lodge for the knave!’ and ‘Have him flogged; trundle him 




KENILWORTH 


329 


downstairs like a turnip ! ’ Ay, but your virtuous gentlemen 
take strange privileges over us, who are downright servants 
of our senses. Well, I have my Master Tressilian’s head 
under my belt by this lucky discovery, that is one thing 
certain; and I will try to get a sight of this Lindabrides of 5 
his, that is another.” 





CHAPTER XXIX 


Now fare thee well, my master; if true service 
Be guerdon’d with hard looks, e’en cut the tow-line, 

And let our barks across the pathless flood 
Hold different courses. 

Shipwreck. 

Tressilian walked into the outer yard of the castle, scarce 
knowing what to think of his late strange and most unex¬ 
pected interview with Amy Robsart, and dubious if he had 
done well, being entrusted with the delegated authority of her 
5 father, to pass his word so solemnly to leave her to her own 
guidance for so many hours. Yet how could he have denied 
her request, dependent as she had too probably rendered her¬ 
self upon Varney? Such was his natural reasoning. The 
happiness of her future life might depend upon his not 
io driving her to extremities, and since no authority of Tres- 
silian’s could extricate her from the power of Varney, 
supposing he was to acknowledge Amy to be his wife, what 
title had he to destroy the hope of domestic peace which 
might yet remain to her by setting enmity betwixt them? 
15 Tressilian resolved, therefore, scrupulously to observe his 
word pledged to Amy, both because it had been given, and 
because, as he still thought, while he considered and recon¬ 
sidered that extraordinary interview, it could not with 
justice or propriety have been refused. 

20 In one respect he had gained much towards securing effec¬ 
tual protection for this unhappy and still beloved object of 
his early affection. Amy was no longer mewed up in a dis¬ 
tant and solitary retreat, under the charge of persons of 
doubtful reputation. She was in the Castle of Kenilworth, 
25 within the verge of the royal court for the time, free from ali 
risk of violence, and liable to be produced before Elizabeth 
on the first summons. These were circumstances which could 
not but assist greatly the efforts which he might have 
occasion to use in her behalf. 

30 While he was thus balancing the advantages and perils 

330 






KENILWORTH 


331 


which attended her unexpected presence in Kenilworth, 
Tressilian was hastily and anxiously accosted by Wayland, 
who, after ejaculating, ‘‘Thank God, your worship is found 
at last!” proceeded with breathless caution to pour into his 
ear the intelligence that the lady had escaped from Cumnor 5 
Place. 

“And is at present in this castle,” said Tressilian; “I 
know it, and I have seen her. Was it by her own choice she 
I found refuge in my apartment ? ” 

! “No,” answered Wayland; “but I could think of no 10 

! other way of safely bestowing her, and was but too happy 
j| to find a deputy-usher who knew where you were quartered 
j — in jolly society truly, the hall on the one hand and the 
I kitchen on the other ! ” 

“Peace, this is no time for jesting,” answered Tressilian, 15 
sternly. 

“I wot that but too well,” said the artist, “for I have felt 
f these three days as if I had an halter round my neck. This 
| lady knows not her own mind; she will have none of your 
aid — commands you not to be named to her -— and is 20 
about to put herself into the hands of my Lord Leicester. 

I had never got her safe into your chamber, had she known 
the owner of it.” 

“Is it possible?” said Tressilian. “But she may have 
hones the earl will exert his influence in her favour over his 25 
villainous dependant.” 

“ I know nothing of that,” said Wayland; “ but I believe, 
if she is to reconcile herself with either Leicester or Varney, 
the side of the Castle of Kenilworth which will be safest for us 
will be the outside, from which we can fastest fly away. It 30 
is not my purpose to abide an instant after delivery of the 
letter to Leicester, which waits but your commands to find 
its way to him. See, here it is; but no — a plague on it 
I must have left it in my dog-hole, in the hayloft yonder, 
where I am to sleep.” 35 

“ Death and fury ! ” said Tressilian, transported beyond his 
usual patience; “thou hast not lost that on which may 
depend a stake more important than a thousand such lives 

as thine ? ” , . J 

“ Lost it! ” answered Wayland, readily; that were a jest 40 
indeed ! No, sir, I have it carefully put up with my night- 
sack, and some matters I have occasion to use. I will fetch 
it in an instant.” 







332 


KENILWORTH 


“Do so,” said Tressilian; “be faithful, and thou shalt be 
well rewarded. But if I have reason to suspect thee, a dead 
dog were in better case than thou ! ” 

Wayland bowed, and took his leave with seeming con- 
5fidence and alacrity; but, in fact, filled with the utmost 
dread and confusion. The letter was lost, that was certain, 
notwithstanding the apology which he had made to appease 
the impatient displeasure of Tressilian. It was lost; it 
might fall into wrong hands; it would then, certainly, 
io occasion a discovery of the whole intrigue in which he had 
been engaged; nor, indeed, did Wayland see much prospect 
of its remaining concealed in any event. He felt much hurt, 
besides, at Tressilian’s burst of impatience. 

“ Nay, if I am to be paid in this coin for services where my 
15 neck is concerned, it is time I should look to myself. Here 
have I offended, for aught I know, to the death the lord of 
this stately castle, whose word were as powerful to take 
away my life as the breath which speaks it to blow out a 
farthing candle. And all this for a mad lady and a melan- 
20 choly gallant, who, on the loss of a four-nooked bit of paper, 
has his hand on his poignado, and swears death and fury! 
Then there is the doctor and Varney — I will save myself 
from the whole mess of them. Life is dearer than gold; I 
will fly this instant, though I leave my reward behind me.” 

25 These reflections naturally enough occurred to a mind 
like Wayland’s, who found himself engaged far deeper than 
he had expected in a train of mysterious and unintelligible in¬ 
trigues, in which the actors seemed hardly to know their own 
course. And yet, to do him justice, his personal fears were, 
30 in some degree, counterbalanced by his compassion for the 
deserted state of the lady. 

“I care not a groat for Master Tressilian,” he said: “ I 
have done more than bargain by him, and have brought his 
errant-damozel within his reach, so that he may look after 
35 her himself; but I fear the poor thing is in much danger 
amongst these stormy spirits. I will to her chamber, and 
tell her the fate which has befallen her letter, that she may 
write another if she list. She cannot lack a messenger, I 
trow, where there are so many lackeys that can carry a letter 
40 to their lord. And I will tell her also that I leave the castle, 
trusting her to God, her own guidance, and Master Tres¬ 
silian’ s care and looking after. Perhaps she may remember 
the ring she offered me; it was well earned, I trow. But 


KENILWORTH 


333 


she is a lovely creature, and — marry hang the ring! I 
will not bear a base spirit for the matter. If I fare ill in 
this world for my good-nature, I shall have better chance in 
the next. So now for the lady, and then for the road.” 

With the stealthy step and jealous eye of the cat that steals 5 
on her prey, Wayland resumed the way to the countess's 
chamber, sliding along by the side of the courts and passages, 
alike observant of all around him and studious himself to 
escape observation. In this manner he crossed the outward 
and inward castle-yard, and the great arched passage which, 10 
running betwixt the range of kitchen offices and the hall, 
led to the bottom of the little winding stair that gave access 
to the chambers of Mervyn’s Tower. 

The artist congratulated himself on having escaped the 
various perils of his journey, and was in the act of ascending 15 
by two steps at once, when he observed that the shadow of a 
man, thrown from a door which stood ajar, darkened the op¬ 
posite wall of the staircase. Wayland drew back cautiously, 
went down to the inner courtyard, spent about a quarter of 
an hour, which seemed at least quadruple its usual duration, 20. 
in walking from place to place, and then returned to the 
tower, in hopes to find that the lurker had disappeared. He 
ascended as high as the suspicious spot—there was no 
shadow on the wall; he ascended a few yards farther — 
the door was still ajar, and he was doubtful whether to 25 
advance or retreat, when it was suddenly thrown wide open, 
and Michael Lambourne bolted out upon the astonished 
Wayland. “Who the devil art thou? and what seek'st 
thou in this part of the castle? March into that chamber, 
and be hanged to thee!” 3 ° 

“ I am no dog, to go at every man’s whistle, said the 
artist, affecting a confidence which was belied by a timid 
shake in his voice. 

“ Say' st thou me so ? Come hither, Laurence Staples. 

A huge, ill-made and ill-looked fellow, upwards of six feet 35 
high, appeared at the door, and Lambourne proceeded: “ If 
thou be' st so fond of this tower, my friend, thou shalt see its 
foundations, good twelve feet below the bed of the lake, and 
tenanted by certain jolly toads, snakes, and so forth, which 
thou wilt find mighty good company. Therefore, once more 40 
I ask vou in fair play who thou art, and what thou seek’st 
here? ” 

“If the dungeon-grate once clashes behind me,” thought 



334 


KENILWORTH 


Wayland, “I am a gone man.” He therefore answered sub¬ 
missively, “He was the poor juggler whom his honour had 
met yesterday in Weatherly Bottom.” 

“ what juggling trick art thou playing in this tower? 

5 Thy gang,” said Lambourne, “lie over against Clinton’s 
buildings.” 

“ I came here to see my sister,” said the juggler, “who is in 
Master Tressilian’s chamber, just above.” 

“Aha !” said Lambourne, smiling, “here be truths ! Upon 
iomy honour, for a stranger, this same Master Tressilian 
makes himself at home among us, and furnishes out his cell 
handsomely with all sorts of commodities. This will be a 
precious tale of the sainted Master Tressilian, and will be 
welcome to some folks, as a purse of broad pieces to me. 
15 Hark ye, fellow,” he continued, addressing Wayland, “thou 
shalt not give puss a hint to steal away: we must catch her 
in her form. So, back with that pitiful sheep-biting 
visage of thine, or I will fling thee from the window of the 
tower, and try if your juggling skill can save your bones.” 

20 “Your worship will not be so hard-hearted, I hope,” said 
Wayland; “poor folk must live. I trust your honour will 
allow me to speak with my sister?” 

“ Sister on Adam’s side, I warrant,” said Lambourne; 
or, if otherwise, the more knave thou. But sister or no 
25 sister, thou diest on point of fox, if thou comest a-prying to 
this tower once more. And now I think of it — uds daggers 
and death! — I will see thee out of the castle, for this is a 
more main concern than thy jugglery.” 

“ But, please your worship,” said Wayland, “ I am to enact 
30 Arion° in the pageant upon the lake this very evening.” 

“I will act it myself, by St. Christopher 0 !” said Lam¬ 
bourne. “Orion, 0 call’st thou him? I will act Orion, his 
belt and his seven stars to boot. Come along, for a rascal 
knave as thou art; follow me ! Or stay; Laurence, do thou 
35 bring him along.” 

Laurence seized by the collar of the cloak the unresisting 
juggler, while Lambourne, with hasty steps, led the way to 
that same sally-port, or secret postern, by which Tressilian 
had returned to the castle, and which opened in the western 
40 wall, at no great distance from Mervvn’s Tower. 

While traversing with a rapid foot the space betwixt the 
tower and the sally-port, Wayland in vain racked his brain 
for some device which might avail the poor lady, for whom, 



KENILWORTH 


335 


notwithstanding his own imminent danger, he felt deep 
interest. But when he was thrust out of the castle, and 
informed by Lambourne, with a tremendous oath, that in- 
| stant death would be the consequence of his again approach¬ 
ing it, he cast up his hands and eyes to heaven, as if to call 5 
God to witness he had stood to the uttermost in defence of 
the oppressed; then turned his back on the proud towers 
of Kenilworth, and went his way to seek a humbler and safer 
place of refuge. 

Laurence and Lambourne gazed a little while after Way- 10 
land, and then turned to go back to their tower, when the 
former thus addressed his companion: “Never credit me, 
Master Lambourne, if I can guess why thou hast driven this 
poor caitiff from the castle, just when he was to bear a part 
in the show that was beginning, and all this about a wench.” 15 

“Ah, Laurence,” replied Lambourne, “thou art thinking 
of Black Joan Jugges of Slingdon, and hast sympathy with 
human frailty. But corragio, most noble Duke of the Dun¬ 
geon and Lord of Limbo, 0 for thou art as dark in this matter as 
thine own dominions of Little Ease. My most reverend Sign- 20 
ior of the Low Countries of Kenilworth, know that our most 
notable master, Richard Varney, would give as much to have 
a hole in this same Tressilian’ s coat as would make us some 
fifty midnight carousals, with the full leave of bidding the 
steward go snick up, if he came to startle us too soon from 25 
our goblets.” 

“ Nay, an that be the case, thou hast right,” said Laurence 
Staples, the upper-warder, or, in common phrase, the first 
jailor of Kenilworth Castle, and of the liberty and honour 
belonging thereto; “ but how will you manage when you are 30 
absent at the Queen’s entrance, Master Lambourne; for me- 
thinks thou must attend thy master there?” 

“Why, thou, mine honest prince of prisons, must keep 
ward in my absence. Let Tressilian enter if, he will, but 
see thou let no one come out. If the damsel herself would 35 
make a break, as ’tis not unlike she may, scare her back with 
rough words; she is but a paltry player’s wench after all.” 

“ Nay, for that matter,” said Laurence, “ I might shut the 
iron wicket upon her, that stands without the double door, 
and so force per force she will be bound to her answer without 4 ° 
more trouble.” 

“Then Tressilian will not get access to her,” said Lam¬ 
bourne, reflecting a moment. “ But ’tis no matter; she will 





338 


KENILWORTH 


ballad says; for your antecedent will have a consequent — 
raro antecedentem,° as Doctor Bricham was wont to say. 
But thk is Greek to you now, honest Laurence, and in sooth 
learning is dry work. Hand me the pitcher once more. ,, 

5 “ In faith, if you drink more, Michael,” said the warder, 

“ you will be in sorry case either to play Arion or to wait on 
your master on such a solemn night;' and I expect each mo¬ 
ment to hear the great bell toll for the muster at Mortimer’s 
Tower to receive the Queen.” 

io While Staples remonstrated, Lambourne drank; and then 
setting down the pitcher, which was nearly emptied, with a 
deep sigh, he said in an undertone, which soon rose to a high 
one as his speech proceeded, “ Never mind, Laurence; if I be 
drunk, I know that shall make Varney uphold me sober. 
15 But, as 1 said, never mind, I can carry my drink discreetly. 
Moreover, I am to go on the water as Orion, and shall take 
cold unless I take something comfortable beforehand. Not 
play Orion ! Let us see the best roarer that ever strained his 
lungs for twelve pence out-mouth me! What if they see 
20 me a little disguised ? Wherefore should any man be sober 
to-night? answer me that. It is matter of loyalty to be 
merry; and I tell thee, there are those in the castle who, 
if they are not merry when drunk, have little chance to be 
merry when sober. I name no names, Laurence. But your 
25 pottle of sack is a fine shoeing-horn to pull on a loyal hu¬ 
mour and a merry one. Huzza for Queen Elizabeth ! — for 
the noble Leicester ! — for the worshipful Master Varney ! — 
and for Michael Lambourne, that can turn them all round 
his finger!” 

30 So saying, he walked downstairs, and across the inner 
court. 

The warder looked after him, shook his head, and, while 
he drew close and locked a wicket, which, crossing the stair¬ 
case, rendered it impossible for any one to ascend higher than 
35 the story immediately beneath Mervyn’s Bower, as Tres- 
silian’s chamber was named, he thus soliloquised with him¬ 
self: “It’s a good thing to be a favourite. I wellnighlost 
mine office because, one frosty morning, Master Varney 
thought I smelled of aquavitse; and this fellow can appear 
40 before him drunk as a wine-skin, and yet meet no rebuke. 
But then he is a pestilent clever fellow withal, and no one can 
understand above one-half of what he says.” 


CHAPTER XXX 


Now bid the steeple rock; she comes — she comes ! 

Speak for us, bells — speak for us, shrill-tongued tuckets. 

Stand to thy linstock, gunner ; let thy cannon 
Play such a peal, as if a paynim foe 

Came stretch’d in turban’d ranks to storm the ramparts. 

We will have pageants too; but that craves wit. 

And I’m a rough-hewn soldier. 

The Virgin Queen, a Tragi-Comedy. 

Tressilian, when Wayland had left him, as mentioned in 
the last chapter, remained uncertain what he ought next to 
do, when Raleigh and Blount came up to him arm in arm, 
yet, according to their wont, very eagerly disputing together. 
Tressilian had no great desire for their society in the present 5 
state of his feelings, but there was no possibility of avoiding 
them; and indeed he felt that, bound by his promise not to 
approach Amy, or take any step in her behalf , it would be his 
best course at once to mix with general society, and to ex¬ 
hibit on his brow as little as he could of the anguish and un- 10 
certainty which sat heavy at his heart. He therefore made 
a virtue of necessity, and hailed his comrades with, “All mirth 
to you, gentlemen. Whence come ye?” 

“From Warwick, to be sure,” said Blount; “we must 
needs home to change our habits, like poor players, who are 15 
fain to multiply their persons to outward appearance by 
change of suits; and you had better do the like, Tressilian.” 

“Blount is right,”* said Raleigh; “the Queen loves such 
marks of deference, and notices, as wanting in respect, those 
who, not arriving in her immediate attendance, may appear 20 
in their soiled and ruffled riding-dress. But look at Blount 
himself, Tressilian, for the love of laughter, and see how his 
villainous tailor hath apparelled him — in blue, green, and 
crimson, with carnation ribands, and yellow roses in his 
shoes! ” 2 *5 


339 






340 


KENILWORTH 


“ Why, what wouldst thou have ? ” said Blount. “ I told 
the cross-legged thief to do his best, and spare no cost; and 
methinks these things are gay enough — gayer than thine 
own. I’ll be judged by Tressilian.” 

5 “I agree — I agree/’ said Walter Raleigh. “Judge be¬ 
twixt us, Tressilian, for the love of Heaven ! ” 

Tressilian, thus appealed to, looked at them both, and was 
immediately sensible at a single glance that honest Blount 
had taken upon the tailor’s warrant the pied garments which 
io he had chosen to make, and was as much embarrassed by the 
quantity of points and ribands which garnished his dress as a 
clown is in his holyday clothes; while the dress of Raleigh 
was a well-fancied and rich suit, which the wearer bore as a 
garb too well adapted to his elegant person to attract par- 
15 ticular attention. Tressilian said, therefore, “ That Blount’s 
dress was finest, but Raleigh’s the best fancied.” 

Blount was satisfied with his decision. “ I knew mine was 
finest,” he said; “if that knave Doublestitch had brought 
me home such a simple doublet as that of Raleigh’s, I .would 
20 have beat his brains out with his own pressing-iron. Nay, 
if we must be fools, ever let us be fools of the first head, 
say I.” 

“But why gettest thou not on thy braveries, Tressilian? ” 
said Raleigh. 

25 “I am excluded from my apartment by a silly mistake,” 
said Tressilian, “and separated for the time from my bag¬ 
gage. I was about to seek thee, to beseech a share of thy 
lodging.” 

“And welcome,” said Raleigh; “it is a noble one. My 
30 Lord of Leicester has done us that kindness, and lodged us in 
princely fashion. If his courtesy be extorted reluctantly, it 
is at least extended far. I would advise you to tell your 
strait to the earl’s chamberlain: you will have instant re¬ 
dress.” 

35 “ Nay, it is not worth while, since you can spare me room,” 

replied Tressilian: “I would not be troublesome. Has any 
one come hither with you?” 

“Oh, ay,” said Blount; “Varney, and a whole tribe of 
Leicestrians, besides a score of us honest Sussex folk. We 
40 are all, it seems, to receive the Queen at what they call the 
Gallery Tower, and witness some fooleries there; and then 
we’re to remain in attendance upon the Queen in the great 
hall — God bless the mark 0 ! — while those who are now 



KENILWORTH 


341 


waiting upon her Grace get rid of their slough, and doff their 
riding-suits. Heaven help me, if her Grace should speak to 
me, 1 shall never know what to answer! ” 

“ And what has detained them so long at Warwick? ” said 
Tressilian, unwilling that their conversation should return to 5 
his own affairs. 

“Such a succession of fooleries/’ said Blount, “as were 
never seen at Bartholomew Fair. 0 We have had speeches 
and players, and dogs and bears, and men making monkeys, 
and women moppets, of themselves. I marvel the Queen 10 
could endure it. But ever and anon came in something of 
‘the lovely light of her gracious countenance/ or some such 
trash. Ah ! Vanity makes a fool of the wisest. But, come, 
let us on to this same Gallery Tower, though I see not what 
thou, Tressilian, canst do with thy riding-dress and boots.” 15 

“ I will take my station behind thee, Blount,” said Tressil¬ 
ian, who saw that his friend’s unusual finery had taken a 
strong hold of his imagination; “ thy goodly size and gay 
dress will cover my defects. ” 

“And so thou shalt, Edmund,” said Blount. “In faith I 20 
am glad thou think’st my garb well-fancied, for all Mr. Wit- 
typate here; for when one does a foolish thing, it is right to 
do it handsomely.” 

So saying, Blount cocked his beaver, threw out his leg, and 
marched manfully forward, as if at the head of his brigade of 25 
pikemen, ever and anon looking with complaisance on his 
crimson stockings, and the huge yellow roses which blos¬ 
somed on his shoes. Tressilian followed, wrapt in his own 
sad thoughts, and scarce minding Raleigh, whose quick 
fancy, amused by the awkward vanity of his respectable 3° 
friend, vented itself in jests, which he whispered into Tres¬ 
silian’s ear. 

In this manner they crossed the long bridge, or tilt-yard, 
and took their station, with other gentlemen of quality, 
before the outer gate of the gallery, or entrance-tower. The 35 
whole amounted to about forty persons, all selected as of the 
first rank under that of knighthood, and were disposed in 
double rows on either side of the gate, like a guard of honour, 
within the close hedge of pikes and partizans, which was 
formed by Leicester’s retainers, wearing his liveries. The4° 
gentlemen carried no arms save their swords and daggers. 
These gallants were as gaily dressed as imagination could 
devise; and as the garb of the time permitted a great display 






340 


KENILWORTH 


“Why, what wouldst thou have?” said Blount. “I told 
the cross-legged thief to do his best, and spare no cost; and 
methinks these things are gay enough — gayer than thine 
own. I' 11 be judged by Tressilian.” 

5 “I agree — I agree,” said Walter Raleigh. “Judge be- 
twixt us, Tressilian, for the love of Heaven! ” 

Tressilian, thus appealed to, looked at them both, and was 
immediately sensible at a single glance that honest Blount 
had taken upon the tailor’s warrant the pied garments which 
io he had chosen to make, and was as much embarrassed by the 
quantity of points and ribands which garnished his dress as a 
clown is in his holyday clothes; while the dress of Raleigh 
was a well-fancied and rich suit, which the wearer bore as a 
garb too well adapted to his elegant person to attract par- 
15 ticular attention. Tressilian said, therefore, “ That Blount’s 
dress was finest, but Raleigh’s the best fancied.” 

Blount was satisfied with his decision. “ I knew mine was 
finest,” he said; “if that knave Doublestitch had brought 
me home such a simple doublet as that of Raleigh’s, I would 
20 have beat his brains out with his own pressing-iron. Nay, 
if we must be fools, ever let us be fools of the first head, 
say I.” 

“But why gettest thou not on thy braveries, Tressilian? ” 
said Raleigh. 

25 “ I am excluded from my apartment by a silly mistake,” 

said Tressilian, “and separated for the time from my bag¬ 
gage. I was about to seek thee, to beseech a share of thy 
lodging.” 

“And welcome,” said Raleigh; “it is a noble one. My 
30 Lord of Leicester has done us that kindness, and lodged us in 
princely fashion. If his courtesy be extorted reluctantly, it 
is at least extended far. I would advise you to tell your 
strait to the earl’s chamberlain: you will have instant re¬ 
dress.” 

35 “ Nay, it is not worth while, since you can spare me room,” 

replied Tressilian: “ I would not be troublesome. Has any 
one come hither with you?” 

“Oh, ay,” said Blount; “Varney, and a whole tribe of 
Leicestrians, besides a score of us honest Sussex folk. We 
40 are all, it seems, to receive the Queen at what they call the 
Gallery Tower, and witness some fooleries there; and then 
we’re to remain in attendance upon the Queen in the great 
hall —■ God bless the mark 0 ! — while those who are now 



KENILWORTH 


341 


waiting upon her Grace get rid of their slough, and doff their 
riding-suits. Heaven help me, if her Grace should speak to 
me, 1 shall never know what to answer ! ” 

“ And what has detained them so long at Warwick?” said 
Tressilian, unwilling that their conversation should return to 5 
his own affairs. 

“Such a succession of fooleries/’ said Blount, “as were 
never seen at Bartholomew Fair . 0 We have had speeches 
and players, and dogs and bears, and men making monkeys, 
and women moppets, of themselves. I marvel the Queen 10 
could endure it. But ever and anon came in something of 
‘the lovely light of her gracious countenance/ or some such 
trash. Ah ! Vanity makes a fool of the wisest. But, come, 
let us on to this same Gallery Tower, though I see not what 
thou, Tressilian, canst do with thy riding-dress and boots.” 15 

“ I will take my station behind thee, Blount,” said Tressil¬ 
ian, who saw that his friend’s unusual finery had taken a 
strong hold of his imagination; “thy goodly size and gay 
dress will cover my defects. ” 

“And so thou shalt, Edmund,” said Blount. “In faith I 20 
am glad thou think’st my garb well-fancied, for all Mr. Wit- 
typate here; for when one does a foolish thing, it is right to 
do it handsomely.” 

So saying, Blount cocked his beaver, threw out his leg, and 
marched manfully forward, as if at the head of his brigade of 25 
pikemen, ever and anon looking with complaisance on his 
crimson stockings, and the huge yellow roses which blos¬ 
somed on his shoes. Tressilian followed, wrapt in his own 
sad thoughts, and scarce minding Raleigh, whose quick 
fancy, amused by the awkward vanity of his respectable 3 ° 
friend, vented itself in jests, which he whispered into Tres¬ 
silian’s ear. 

In this manner they crossed the long bridge, or tilt-yard, 
and took their station, with other gentlemen of quality, 
before the outer gate of the gallery, or entrance-tower. The 35 
whole amounted to about forty persons, all selected as of the 
first rank under that of knighthood, and were disposed in 
double rows on either side of the gate, like a guard of honour, 
wdthin the close hedge of pikes and partizans, which was 
formed by Leicester’s retainers, wearing his liveries. The4° 
gentlemen carried no arms save their swords and daggers. 
These gallants were as gaily dressed as imagination could 
devise; and as the garb of the time permitted a great display 






342 


KENILWORTH 


of expensive magnificence, nought was to be seen but velvet 
and cloth of gold and silver, ribands, feathers, gems, and 
golden chains. In spite of his more serious subjects of dis¬ 
tress, Tressilian could not help feeling that he, with his 
5 riding-suit, however handsome it might be, made rather 
an unworthy figure among these “ fierce vanities/’ and the 
rather because he saw that his dishabille was the subject of 
wonder among his own friends and of scorn among the par- 
tizans of Leicester. 

io We could not suppress this fact, though it may seem some¬ 
thing at variance with the gravity of Tressilian’s character; 
but the truth is, that a regard for personal appearance is a 
species of self-love from which the wisest are not exempt, 
and to which the mind clings so instinctively, that not 
15 only the soldier advancing to almost inevitable death, but 
even the doomed criminal who goes to certain execution, 
shows an anxiety to array his person to the best advantage. 
But this is a digression. 

It was twilight of a summer night ( 9 th July 1575 ), the sun 
20 having for some time set, and all were in anxious expectation 
of the Queen’s immediate approach. The multitude had 
remained assembled for many hours, and their numbers 
were still rather on the increase. A profuse distribution of 
refreshments, together with roasted oxen, and barrels of ale 
25 set a-broach in different places of the road, had kept the pop¬ 
ulace in perfect love and loyalty towards the Queen and her 
favourite, which might have somewhat abated had fasting 
been added to watching. They passed away the time, there¬ 
fore, with the usual popular amusements of whooping, hal- 
30 looing, shrieking, and playing rude tricks upon each other, 
forming the chorus of discordant sounds usual on such occa¬ 
sions. These prevailed all through the crowded roads and 
fields, and especially beyond the gate of the chase, where the 
greater number of the common sort were stationed; when, 
35 all of a sudden, a single rocket was seen to shoot into the 
atmosphere, and, at the instant, far heard over flood and 
field, the great bell of the castle tolled. 

Immediately there was a pause of dead silence, succeeded 
by a deep hum of expectation, the united voice of many thou- 
40 sands, none of whom spoke above their breath; or, to use a 
singular expression, the whisper of an immense multitude. 

“ They come now, for certain,” said Raleigh. “ Tressilian, 
that sound is grand. We hear it from this distance, as mari- 





KENILWORTH 


343 


ners, after a long voyage, hear, upon their night-watch, the 
tide rush upon some distant and unknown shore.’’ 

“Mass !” answered Blount, “I hear it rather as I used to 
hear mine own kine lowing from the close of Wittens West- 
lowe.” 5 

“ He will assuredly graze presently,” said Raleigh to Tres- 
silian: “ his thought is all of fat oxen and fertile meadows; 
he grows little better than one of his own beeves, and only 
becomes grand when he is provoked to pushing and goring.” 

“ We shall have him at that presently,” said Tressilian, “ if io 
you spare not your wit.” 

“Tush, I care not,” answered Raleigh; “but thou, too, 
Tressilian, hast turned a kind of owl, that flies only by night; 
hast exchanged thy songs for screechings, and good com¬ 
pany for an ivy-tod.” *5 

“ But what manner of animal art thou thyself, Raleigh,” 
said Tressilian, “ that thou holdest us all so lightly ? ” 

“ Who, I ? ” replied ’Raleigh. “ An eagle am I, that never 
will think of dull earth while there is a heaven to soar in and 
a sun to gaze upon.” 20 

“Well bragged, by St. Barnaby 0 !” said Blount; “but, 
good Master Eagle, beware the cage, and beware the fowler. 
Many birds have flown as high, that I have seen stuffed with 
straw, and hung up to scare kites. But hark, what a dead 
silence hath fallen on them at once !” 25 

“ The procession pauses,” said Raleigh, “ at the gate of the 
chase, where a sibyl, one of the FatidiccB , 0 meets the Queen, 
to tell her fortune. I saw the verses; there is little savour 
in them, and her Grace has been already crammed full with 
such poetical compliments. She whispered to me during 30 
the Recorder’s speech yonder, at Ford Mill, as she entered 
the liberties of Warwick, 0 how she was ‘ pertcesa barbarce 
loquelce. 0 ’” 

“The Queen whispered to him!” said Blount, m a kind 
of soliloquy. “Good God, to what will this world come!” 35 
His farther meditations were interrupted by a shout of 
applause from the multitude, so tremendously vociferous 
that the country echoed for miles round. The guards, 
thickly stationed upon the road by which the Queen was to 
advance, caught up the acclamation, which ran like wildfire 40 
to the castle, and announced to all within that Queen Eliza¬ 
beth had entered the royal chase of Kenilworth. The whole 
music of the castle sounded at once, and a round of artillery, 







344 


KENILWORTH 


with a salvo of small arms, was discharged from the battle¬ 
ments ; but the noise of drums and trumpets, and even of the 
cannon themselves, was but faintly heard amidst the roaring 
and reiterated welcomes of the multitude. 

5 As the noise began to abate, a broad glare of light was 
seen to appear from the gate of the park, and, broadening 
and brightening as it came nearer, advanced along the open 
and fair avenue that led towards the Gallery Tower; which, 
as we have already noticed, was lined on either hand by the 
io retainers of the Earl of Leicester. The word was passed 
along the line, “ The Queen! The Queen ! Silence, and 
stand fast! ” Onward came the cavalcade, illuminated by 
two hundred thick waxen torches, in the hands of as many 
horsemen, which cast a light like that of broad da^r all 
15 around the procession, but especially on the principal group, 
of which the Queen herself, arrayed in the most splendid 
manner, and blazing with jewels, formed the central figure. 
She was mounted on a milk-white horse, which she reined 
with peculiar grace and dignity; and in the whole of her 
20 stately and noble carriage you saw the daughter of an 
hundred kings. 

The ladies of the court, who rode beside her Majesty, had 
taken especial care that their own external appearance 
should not be more glorious than their rank and the occa- 
25 sion altogether demanded, so that no inferior luminary might 
appear to approach the orbit of royalty. But their personal 
charms, and the magnificence by which, under every pru¬ 
dential restraint, they were necessarily distinguished, 
exhibited them as the very flower of a realm so far famed for 
30 splendour and beauty. The magnificence of the courtiers, 
free from such restraints as prudence imposed on the ladies, 
was yet more unbounded. 

Leicester, who glittered like a golden image with jewels 
and cloth of gold, rode on her Majesty’s right hand, as well in 
35 quality of her host as of her master of the horse. The black 
steed which he mounted had not a single white hair on his 
body, and was one of the most renowned chargers in Europe, 
having been purchased by the earl at large expense for this 
royal occasion. As the noble animal chafed at the slow pace 
40 of the procession, and, arching his stately neck, champed on 
the silver bits which restrained him, the foam flew from his 
mouth and specked his well-formed limbs, as if with spots of 
snow. The rider well became the high place which he held 



KENILWORTH 


345 


! and the proud steed which he bestrode; for no man in Eng- 
! land, or perhaps in Europe, was more perfect than Dudley in 
horsemanship and all other exercises belonging to his quality. 
He was bareheaded, as were all the courtiers in the train; 

| and the red torchlight shone upon his long curled tresses of 5 
dark hair, and on his noble features, to the beauty of which 
1 oven the severest criticism could only object the lordly fault, 

, as it may be termed, of a forehead somewhat too high. On 
| that proud evening, those features wore all the grateful 
I solicitude of a subject to show himself sensible of the high 10 
! honour which the Queen was conferring on him, and all the 
> pride and satisfaction which became so glorious a moment, 
j Yet, though neither eye nor feature betrayed aught but 
| feelings which suited the occasion, some of the earl’s per- 
1 sonal attendants remarked that he was unusually pale, and 15 
1 they expressed to each other their fear that he was taking 
more fatigue than consisted with his health. 

Varney followed close behind his master, as the principal 
I esquire in waiting, and had charge of his lordship’s black 
f velvet bonnet, garnished with a clasp of diamonds and sur- 20 
I mounted by a white plume. He kept his eye constantly 
j on his master; and, for reasons with which the reader is not 
I unacquainted, was, among Leicester’s numerous dependants, 

J the one who was most anxious that his lord’s strength and 
resolution should carry him successfully through a day so 25 
agitating. For, although Varney was one of the few — the 
j very few — moral monsters who contrive to lull to sleep the 
remorse of their own bosoms, and are drugged into moral 
insensibility by atheism, as men in extreme agony are lulled 
by opium, yet he knew that in the breast of his patron there 30 
was already awakened the .fire that is never quenched, and 
that his lord felt, amid all the pomp and magnificence we have 
described, the gnawing of the worm that dieth not. Still, 
however, assured as Lord Leicester stood, by Varney s own 
intelligence, that his countess laboured under an indisposi- 35 
tion which formed an unanswerable apology to the Queen 
for her not appearing at Kenilworth, there was little danger, 
his wily retainer thought, that a man so ambitious would be¬ 
tray himself by giving way to any external weakness. 

The train, male and female, who attended immediately upon 40 
the Queen’s person were, of course, of the bravest and the fair¬ 
est_the highest born nobles and the wisest counsellors of 

that distinguished reign, to repeat whose names were but to 






346 


KENILWORTH 


weary the reader. Behind came a long crowd of knights 
and gentlemen, whose rank and birth, however distinguished, 
were thrown into shade, as their persons into the rear of 
a procession whose front was of such august majesty. 

5 Thus marshalled, the cavalcade approached the Gallery 
Tower, which formed, as we have often observed, the ex¬ 
treme barrier of the castle. 

It was now the part of the huge porter to step forward; 
but the lubbard was so overwhelmed with confusion of spirit 
io — the contents of one immense black-jack of double ale, 
which he had just drank to quicken his memory, having 
treacherously confused the brain it was intended to clear — 
that he only groaned piteously, and remained sitting on his 
stone seat; and the Queen would have passed on without 
15 greeting, had not the gigantic warder’s secret ally, Flibber¬ 
tigibbet, who lay perdue behind him, thrust a pin into the 
rear of the short femoral garment which we elsewhere de¬ 
scribed. 

The porter uttered a sort of a yell, which came not amiss 
20 into his part, started up with his club, and dealt a sound 
douse or two on each side of him; and then, like a coach- 
horse pricked by the spur, started off at once into the full 
career of. his address, and, by dint of active prompting on 
the part of Dickie Sludge, delivered, in sounds of gigantic 
25 intonation, a speech which may be thus abridged, the reader 
being to suppose that the first lines were addressed to the 
throng who approached the gateway; the conclusion, at the 
approach of the Queen, upon sight of whom, as struck by 
some heavenly vision, the gigantic warder dropped his club, 
30 resigned his keys, and gave open way to the goddess of the 
night and all her magnificent train: 

“What stir, what turmoil, have we for the nones? 

Stand back, my masters, or beware your bones! 

Sirs, I’m a warder, and no man of straw, 

35 My voice keeps order, and my club gives law. 

Yet soft nay, stay — what vision have we here? 

What dainty darling’s this — what peerless peer? 

What loveliest face, that loving ranks enfold, 

Like brightest diamond chased in purest gold ? 

40 Dazzled and blind, mine office I forsake, 

My club, my key, my knee, my homage take. 

Bright paragon, pass on in joy and bliss; — 

Beshrew the gate that opes not wide at such a sight as this 0 !’* 




KENILWORTH 


347 


Elizabeth received most graciously the homage of the Her¬ 
culean porter, and, bending her head to him in requital, 
passed through his guarded tower, from the top of which was 
poured a clamorous blast of warlike music, which was replied 
to by other bands of minstrelsy placed at different points on 5 
the castle walls, and by others again stationed in the chase; 
while the tones of the one, as they yet vibrated on the echoes, 
were caught up and answered by new harmony from dif¬ 
ferent quarters. 

Amidst these bursts of music, which, as if the work of en- 10 
chantment, seemed now close at hand, now softened by dis¬ 
tant space, now wailing so low and sweet as if that distance 
were gradually prolonged until only the last lingering strains 
could reach the ear, Queen Elizabeth crossed the Gallery 
Tower, and came upon the long bridge which extended from 15 
thence to Mortimer’s Tower, and which was already as light 
as day, so many torches had been fastened to the palisades 
on either side. Most of the nobles here alighted, and sent 
their horses to the neighbouring village of Kenilworth, fol¬ 
lowing the Queen on foot, as did the gentlemen who had 20 
stood in array to receive her at the Gallery Tower. 

On this occasion, as at different times during the evening, 
Raleigh addressed himself to Tressilian, and was not a little 
surprised at his vague and unsatisfactory answers; which 
joined to his leaving his apartment without any assigned 25 
reason, appearing in an undress when it was likely to be 
offensive to the Queen, and some other symptoms of Regu¬ 
larity which he thought he discovered, led him to doubt 
whether his friend did not labour under some temporary 

derangement. ,, , . A 30 

Meanwhile, the Queen had no sooner stepped on the bridge 
than a new spectacle was provided; for, as soon as the music 
gave signal that she was so far advanced, a raft, so disposed 
as to resemble a small floating island, illuminated by a great 
variety of torches, and surrounded by floating pageants 35 
formed to represent sea-horses, on which sat tritons, 
Nereids , 0 and other fabulous deities of the seas and rivers, 
made its appearance upon the lake, and, issuing from behind 
a small heronry where it had been concea±ed, floated gently 
towards the farther end of the bridge. ... + 1 + 

On the islet appeared a beautiful woman, clad m a watchet- 
coloured silken mantle, bound with a broad girdle, in¬ 
scribed with characters like the phylacteries of the Hebrews. 


40 





348 


KENILWORTH 


Her feet and arms were bare, but her wrists and ankles were 
adorned with gold bracelets of uncommon size. Amidst her 
long silky black hair she wore a crown or chaplet of artificial 
mistletoe, and bore in her hand a rod of ebony tipped with 
5 silver. Two nymphs attended on her, dressed in the same 
antique and mystical guise. 

The pageant was so well managed, that this Lady of the 
Floating Island, having performed her voyage with much 
picturesque effect, landed at Mortimer’s Tower, with her two 
io attendants, just as Elizabeth presented herself before that 
outwork. The stranger then, in a well-penned speech, an¬ 
nounced herself as that famous Lady of the Lake , 0 renowned 
in the stories of King Arthur, who had nursed the youth of 
the redoubted Sir Lancelot, and whose beauty had proved 
15 too powerful both for the wisdom and the spells of the mighty 
Merlin. Since that early period, she had remained possessed 
of her crystal dominions, she said, despite the various men of 
fame and might by whom Kenilworth had been successively 
tenanted. The Saxons, the Danes, the Normans, the Saint- 
20 lowes, the Clintons, the Montforts, the Mortimers, the Plan- 
tagenets, great though they were in arms and magnificence, 
had never, she said, caused her to raise her head from the 
waters which hid her crystal palace. But a greater than all 
these great names had now appeared, and she came in hom- 
25 age and duty to welcome the peerless Elizabeth to all soort 
which the castle and its environs, which lake or land, could 
afford. 

The Queen received this address also with great courtesy 
and made answer in raillery, “ We thought this lake had be- 
30 longed to our own dominions, fair dame; but since sp famed 
a lady claims it for hers, we will be glad at some other time to 
hav®,further communing with you touching our joint inter¬ 
ests. 

With this gracious answer, the Lady of the Lake vanished 
35 and Arion, who was amongst the maritime deities, appeared < 
upon his dolphin. But Lambourne, who had taken upon : 
him the part m the absence of Wayland, being chilled with 
remaining immersed in an element to which he was not ! 
friendly, having never got his speech by heart, and not hav- I 
4° mg, like the porter, the advantage of a prompter, paid it off , 
with impudence, tearing off his vizard, and swearing “ Cog’s 
bones! he was none of Arion or Orion either, but honest 
Mike Lambourne, that had been drinking her Majesty’s ! 


KENILWORTH 


349 


>■ health from morning till midnight, and was come to bid her 
heartily welcome to Kenilworth Castle” 

This unpremeditated buffoonery answered the purpose 
1 probably better than the set speech would have done. The 
Queen laughed heartily, and swore, in her turn, that he had 5 
made the best speech she had heard that day. Lambourne, 

| who instantly saw his jest had saved his bones, jumped on 
shore, gave his dolphin a kick, and declared he would never 
! meddle with fish again, except at dinner. 

At the same time that the Queen was about to enter the 10 
castle, that memorable discharge of fireworks by water and 
land took place, which Master Laneham, formerly intro¬ 
duced to the reader, has strained all his eloquence to de¬ 
scribe. 

“Such,”, says the clerk of the council-chamber door, “was 15 
the blaze of burning darts, the gleams of stars coruscant, the 
streams and hail of fiery sparks, lightnings of wildfire, and 
flight-shot of thunderbolts, with continuance, terror, and ve- 
hemency, that the heavens thundered, the waters surged, 
and the earth shook; and for my part, hardy as I am, it 20 
made me very vengeably afraid.” 







CHAPTER XXXI 


Nay, this is matter for the month of March, 

When hares are maddest. Either speak in reason, 

Giving cold argument the wall of passion, 

Or I break up the court. 

Beaumont and Fletcher. 

It is by no means our purpose to detail minutely all the 
princely festivities of Kenilworth, after the fashion of Master 
Robert Laneham, whom we quoted in the conclusion of the 
last chapter. It is sufficient to say that, under discharge of 
5 the splendid fireworks, which we have borrowed Laneham’s 
eloquence to describe, the Queen entered the base-court of 
Kenilworth, through Mortimer’s Tower, and moving on 
through pageants of heathen gods and heroes of antiquity, 
who offered gifts and compliments on the bended knee, at 
io length found her way to the great hall of the castle, gor¬ 
geously hung for her reception with the richest silken tapes¬ 
try, misty with perfumes, and sounding to strains of soft and 
delicious music. . From the highly carved oaken roof hung 
a superb chandelier of gilt bronze, formed like a spread eagle, 
is whose outstretched wing supported three male and three 

Si na i! e 11 figUres ’ S ras P in .g a P air of branches in each hand. 
I he hall was thus illuminated by twenty-four torches of wax. 
At the upper end of the splendid apartment was a state 
canopy, overshadowing a royal throne, and beside it was a 
20 door, which opened to a long suite of apartments, decorated 
with the utmost magnificence for the Queen and her ladies, 
whenever it should be her pleasure to be private. 

The Earl of Leicester having handed the Queen up to her 
throne and seated her there, knelt down before her,° and 
25 kissing the hand which she held out, with an air in which ro¬ 
mantic and respectful gallantry was happily mingled with the 
air of loyal devotion, he thanked her, in terms of the deepest 
gratitude, for the highest honour which a sovereign could ren¬ 
der to a subject. So handsome did he look when kneeling 
30 before her, that Elizabeth was tempted to prolong the scene a 

350 



KENILWORTH 


351 


little longer than there was, strictly speaking, necessity for; 
and ere she raised him, she passed her hand over his head, so 
near as almost to touch his long curled and perfumed hair, 
and with a movement of fondness, that seemed to intimate 
she would, if she dared, have made the motion a slight caress. 5 
She at length raised him; and, standing beside the throne, 
he explained to her the various preparations which had been 
made for her amusement and accommodation, all of which 
received her prompt and gracious approbation. The earl 
then prayed her Majesty for permission that he himself, 1° 
and the nobles who had been in attendance upon her dur¬ 
ing the journey, might retire for a few minutes, and put 
themselves into a guise more fitting for dutiful attend¬ 
ance, during which space, those gentlemen of worship 
(pointing to Varney, Blount, Tressilian, and others), who 15 
had already put themselves into fresh attire, would have 
the honour of keeping her presence-chamber. 

“Be it so, my lord,” answered the Queen; “you could 
manage a theatre well, who can thus command a double set 
of actors. For ourselves, we wiU receive your courtesies 20 
this evening but clownishly, since it is not our purpose to 
change our riding attire, being in effect something fa¬ 
tigued with a journey which the concourse of our good 
people hath rendered slow, though the love they have 
shown our person hath, at the same time, made it de-25 

lightful.” . . . , , 

Leicester, having received this permission, retired accord¬ 
ingly and was followed by those nobles who had attended 
the Queen to Kenilworth in person. The gentlemen who 
had preceded them, and were of course dressed for the so- 3° 
lemnity, remained in attendance. But being most of them 
of rather inferior rank, they remained at an awful dis¬ 
tance from the throne which Elizabeth occupied, the 
Queen’s sharp eye soon distinguished Raleigh amongst 
them with one or two others who were personally known 35 
to her, and she instantly made them a sign to approach, 
and accosted them very graciously. Raleigh, m particular, 
the adventure of whose cloak, as well as the incident of the 
verses, remained on her mind, was very graciously re¬ 
ceived • and to him she most frequently applied for mfor- 4 ° 
mation concerning the names and rank of those who were 
in presence- These he cornrnunic&ted concisely, £incl not 
without some traits of humorous satire, by which Eliza- 







352 


KENILWORTH 


beth seemed much amused. “ And who is yonder clownish ; 
fellow?” she said, looking at Tressilian, whose soiled dress ] 
on this occasion greatly obscured his good mien. 

“ A poet, if it please your Grace,” replied Raleigh. 

5 “I might have guessed that from his careless garb,” said 
Elizabeth. “ I have known some poets so thoughtless as ' 
to throw their cloaks into gutters.” 

“It must have been when the sun dazzled both their eyes 
and their judgment,” answered Raleigh, 
io Elizabeth smiled, and proceeded: “I asked that slovenly 
fellow’s name, and you only told me his profession.” 

“ Tressilian is his name,” said Raleigh, with internal reluc- ' 
tance, for he foresaw nothing favourable to his friend from 
the manner in which she took notice of him. 

15 “Tressilian !” answered Elizabeth. “Oh, the Menelaus of 
our romance. Why, he has dressed himself in a guise that 
will go far to exculpate his fair and false Helen. And where 
is Farnham, or whatever his name is — my Lord of Leices¬ 
ter’s man, I mean — the Paris of this Devonshire tale?” 

20 With still greater reluctance, Raleigh named and pointed 
out to her Varney, for whom the tailor had done all that art 
could perform in making his exterior agreeable; and who, if \ 
he had not grace, had a sort of tact and habitual knowledge 
of breeding which came in place of it. 

25 The Queen turned her eye from the one to the other. “ I 
doubt,” she said, “this same poetical Master Tressilian, who 
is too learned, I warrant me, to remember what presence he 
was to appear in, may be one of those of whom Geoffrey 
Chaucer says wittily, the wisest clerks are not the wisest j 
30 men.° I remember that Varney is a smooth-tongued varlet. 

I doubt this fair runaway hath had reasons for breaking 
her faith.” 

To this Raleigh durst make no answer, aware how little he j 
should benefit Tressilian by contradicting the Queen’s senti- 
35 ments, and not at all certain, on the whole, whether the best 
thing that could befall him would not be that she should put 
an end at once by her authority to this affair, upon which it 
seemed to him Tressilian’s thoughts were fixed with unavail¬ 
ing and distressing pertinacity. As these reflections passed 
40 through his active brain, the lower door was opened, and 
Leicester, accompanied by several of his kinsmen and of the 
nobles who had embraced his faction, re-entered the castle 
hall. 






KENILWORTH 


353 


The favourite earl was now apparelled all in white, his 
shoes being of white velvet; his understocks, or stockings, of 
knit silk; his upper stocks of white velvet, lined with cloth of 
silver, which was shown at the slashed part of the middle 
thigh; his doublet of cloth of silver, the close jerkin of white 5 
velvet, embroidered with silver and seed-pearl, his girdle and 
the scabbard of his sword of white velvet with golden buckles; 
his poniard and sword hilted and mounted with gold; and 
over all, a rich loose robe of white satin, with a border of 
golden embroidery a foot in breadth. The collar of the 10 
Garter, and the azure Garter itself around his knee, com¬ 
pleted the appointments of the Earl of Leicester; which were 
so well matched by his fair stature, graceful gesture, fine 
proportion of body, and handsome countenance, that at that 
moment he was admitted by all who saw him as the goodliest 15 
person whom they had ever looked upon. Sussex and the 
other nobles were also richly attired; but, in point of splen¬ 
dour and gracefulness of mien, Leicester far exceeded them 
all. 

Elizabeth received him with great complacency. “We 20 
have one piece of royal justice,” she said, “to attend to. 

It is a piece of justice, too, which interests us as a woman, as 
well as in the character of mother and guardian of the 
English people.” 

An involuntary shudder came over Leicester, as he bowed 25 
low, expressive of his readiness to receive her royal com¬ 
mands; and a similar cold fit came over Varney, whose eyes 
(seldom during that evening removed from his patron) in¬ 
stantly perceived, from the change in his looks, slight as that 
was, of what the Queen was speaking. But Leicester had 30 
wrought his resolution up to the point which, in his crooked 
policy, he judged necessary; and when Elizabeth added: 
“It is of the matter of Varney and Tressilian we speak; 
is the lady in presence, my lord ? ” His answer was ready: 
“Gracious madam, she is not.” 35 

Elizabeth bent her brows and compressed her lips. “ Our 
orders were strict and positive, my lord,” was her answer —— 

“And should have been obeyed, good my liege,” replied 
Leicester, “ had they been expressed in the form of the light¬ 
est wish. But -— Varney, step forward — this gentleman 40 
will inform your Grace of the cause why the lady (he could 
not force his rebellious tongue to utter the words “his wife”) 
cannot attend on your royal presence.” 

2a 





354 


KENILWORTH 


Varney advanced, and pleaded with readiness, what 
indeed he firmly believed, the absolute incapacity of the 
party (for neither did he dare, in Leicester’s presence, term 
her his wife) to wait on her Grace. 

5 “Here,” said he, “are attestations from a most learned 
physician, whose skill and honour are well known to my good 
Lord of Leicester; and from an honest and devout Protest¬ 
ant, a man of credit and substance, one Anthony Foster, the 
gentleman in whose house she is at present bestowed, that 
io she now labours under an illness which altogether unfits her 
for such a journey as betwixt this castle and the neighbour¬ 
hood of Oxford.” 

“This alters the matter,” said the Queen, taking the 
certificates in her hand, and glancing at their contents. 
15 “Let Tressilian come forward. Master Tressilian, we have 
much sympathy for your situation, the rather that you seem 
to have set your heart deeply on this Amy Robsart or 
Varney. Our power, thanks to God and the willing obed¬ 
ience of a loving people, is worth much, but there are some 
20 things which it cannot compass. We cannot, for example, 
command the affections of a giddy young girl, or make her 
love sense and learning better than a courtier’s fine doublet; 
and we cannot control sickness, with which it seems this 
lady is afflicted, who may not, by reason of such infirmity, 
25 attend our court here, as we had required her to do. Here 
are the testimonials of the physician who hath her under his 
charge, and the gentleman in whose house she resides, so 
setting forth.” 

“Under your Majesty’s favour,” said Tressilian hastily, 
30 and, in his alarm for the consequence of the imposition prac¬ 
tised on the Queen, forgetting, in part at least, his own 
promise to Amy, “these certificates speak not the truth.” 

“How, sir!” said the Queen. “Impeach my Lord of 
Leicester’s veracity! But you shall have a fair hearing. 
35 In our presence the meanest of our subjects shall be heard 
against the proudest, and the least known against the most 
favoured; therefore you shall be heard fairly, but beware you 
speak not without a warrant. Take these certificates in 
your own hand; look at them carefully, and say manfully 
40 if you impugn the truth of them, and upon what evidence.” 

As the Queen spoke, his promise and all its consequences 
rushed on the mind of the unfortunate Tressilian, and while 
it controlled his natural inclination to pronounce that a false- 



KENILWORTH 


355 


hood which he knew from the evidence of his senses to be 
untrue, gave an indecision and irresolution to his appearance 
and utterance, which made strongly against him in the mind 
of Elizabeth, as well as of all who beheld him. He turned 
the papers over and over, as if he had been an idiot, incapable 5 
of comprehending their contents. The Queen’s impatience 
began to become visible. “You are a scholar, sir,” she said, 

“ and of some note, as I have heard; yet you seem wondrous 
slow in reading text-hand. How say you, are these certifi¬ 
cates true or no ? ” 10 

“Madam,” said Tressilian, with obvious embarrassment 
and hesitation, anxious to avoid admitting evidence which 
he might afterwards have reason to confute, yet equally 
desirous to keep his word to Amy, and to give her, as he had 
promised, space to plead her own cause in her own way — T 5 
“madam — madam, your Grace calls on me to admit evi¬ 
dence which ought to be proved valid by those who found 
their defence upon it.” „ 

“ Why, Tressilian, thou art critical as well as poetical, 
said the Queen, bending on him a brow of displeasure; “ me- 20 
thinks these writings, being produced in the presence of the 
noble earl to whom this castle pertains, and his honour being 
appealed to as the guarantee of their authenticity, might be 
evidence enough for thee. But since thou lists to be so for¬ 
mal — Varney, or rather my Lord of Leicester, for the affair 25 
becomes yours (these words, though spoken at random, 
thrilled through the earl’s marrow and bones), what evidence 

have you as touching these certificates? 

Varney hastened to reply, preventing Leicester: bo 

please your Majesty, my young Lord of Oxford, who is here 30 
in presence, knows Master Anthony Foster’s hand and his 

character.” , , , , 

The Earl of Oxford, a young unthnft, whom t oster had 
more than once accommodated with loans on usurious 
interest, acknowledged, on this appeal, that he knew him as 35 
a wealthy and independent franklin, supposed to be worth 
much money, and verified the certificate produced to be his 

ha “And^vho speaks to the doctor’s certificate?” said the 
Queen. “ Alasco, methinks, is his name.” 4 ° 

Masters, her Majesty’s physician (not the + le ss willingly 
that he remembered his repulse from Say s Court, and thought 
that his present testimony might gratify Leicester, and 





356 


KENILWORTH 


mortify the Earl of Sussex and his faction), acknowledged 
he had more than once consulted with Doctor Alasco, and 
spoke of him as a man of extraordinary learning and hidden 
acquirements, though not altogether in the regular course 
5 of practice. The Earl of Huntingdon, Lord Leicester’s 
brother-in-law, and the old Countess of Rutland, next sang 
his praises, and both remembered the thin, beautiful Italian 
hand in which he was wont to write his receipts, and which 
corresponded to the certificate produced as his. 
io “ And now, I trust, Master Tressilian, this matter is 
ended,” said the Queen. “ We will do something ere the 
night is older to reconcile old Sir Hugh Robsart to the match. 
You have done your duty something more than,boldly; 
but we were no woman had we not compassion for the 
15 wounds which true love deals; so we forgive your audacity, 
and your uncleansed boots withal, which have well ni gh 
overpowered my Lord of Leicester’s perfumes.” 

So spoke Elizabeth, whose nicety of scent was one of the 
characteristics of her organisation, as appeared long after- 
20 wards when she expelled Essex from her presence on a 
charge against his boots similar to that which she now ex¬ 
pressed against those of Tressilian. 

But Tressilian had by this time collected himself, aston¬ 
ished as he had at first been by the audacity of the falsehood 
25 so feasibly supported, and placed in array against the 
evidence of his own eyes. He rushed forward, kneeled 
down, and caught the Queen by the skirt of her robe. “ As 
you are Christian woman,” he said, “madam, as you are 
crowned queen, to do equal justice among your subjects — 

30 as you hope yourself to have fair hearing — which God 
grant you — at that last bar at which we must all plead, 
grant me one small request! Decide not this matter so 
hastily. Give me but twenty-four hours’ interval, and I 
will, at the end of that brief space, produce evidence which 
35 will show to demonstration that these certificates, which 
state this unhappy lady to be now ill at ease in Oxfordshire, 
are false as hell!” 

“ Let go my train, sir!” said Elizabeth, who was startled 
at his vehemence, though she had too much of lion in her to 
40 fear. “The fellow must be distraught; that witty knave, 
my godson Harrington, must have him into his rhymes of 
Orlando Furioso 0 ! And yet, by this light, there is something 
strange in the vehemence of his demand. Speak, Tressilian * j 




KENILWORTH 


357 


what wilt thou do if, at the end of these four-and-twenty 
hours, thou canst not confute a fact so solemnly proved as 
this lady’s illness?” 

“ I will lay down my head on the block,” answered Tressilian. 

“Pshaw!” replied the Queen. “God’s light! thou 5 
speak’st like a fool. What head falls in England but by 
just sentence of English law ? I ask thee, man if thou 
hast sense to understand me — wilt thou, if thou shalt fail 
in this improbable attempt of thine, render me a good and 
sufficient reason why thou dost undertake it?” IC 

Tressilian paused, and again hesitated; because he felt 
convinced that if, within the interval demanded, Amy 
should become reconciled to her husband, he would in that 
case do her the worst of offices by again ripping up the whole 
circumstances before Elizabeth, and showing how that wise 15 
and jealous princess had been imposed upon by false testi¬ 
monials. The consciousness of this dilemma renewed his 
extreme embarrassment of look, voice, and manner; he 
hesitated, looked down, and on the Queen repeating her 
question with a stern voice and flashing eye, he admitted 20 
with faltering words, “That it might be — he could not 
positively — that is, in certain events — explain the reasons 
and grounds on which he acted.” 

“Now, by the soul of King Henry,” said the Queen, this 
is either moonstruck madness or very knavery ! Seest thou, 25 
Raleigh, thy friend is far too Pindaric 0 for this presence. 
Have him away, and make us quit of him, or it shall be the 
worse for him; for his flights are too unbridled for any place 
but Parnassus or St. Luke’s Hospital. But come back in¬ 
stantly thyself, when he is placed under fitting restraint. 30 
We wish we had seen the beauty which could make such 
havoc in a wise man’s brain.” 

Tressilian was again endeavouring to address the Queen, 
when Raleigh, in obedience to the orders he had received, in¬ 
terfered, and, with Blount’s assistance, half-led, half-forced 35 
him out of the presence-chamber, where he himself indeed 
began to think his appearance did his cause more harm than 

^°When they had attained the ante-chamber, Raleigh 
entreated Blount to see Tressilian safely conducted into the 4 ° 
apartments allotted to the Earl of Sussex’s followers, and, n 
necessary, recommended that a guard should be mounted on 
him. 



358 


KENILWORTH 


‘'This extravagant passion,” he said, “and, as it would 
seem, the news of the lady’s illness, has utterly wrecked his 
excellent judgment. But it will pass away if he be kept i 
quiet. Only let him break forth again at no rate; for he is ; 

5 already far in her Highness’s displeasure, and should she j 
be again provoked, she will find for him a worse place of 
confinement and sterner keepers.” 

“I judged as much as that he was mad,” said Nicholas i 
Blount, looking down upon his own crimson stockings and 1 
io yellow roses, “ whenever I saw him wearing yonder damned I 
boots, which stunk so in her nostrils. I will but see him 
stowed, and be back with you presently. But, Walter, did j 
the Queen ask who I was? Methought she glanced an eye I 
at me.” 

15 “ Twenty — twenty eye-glances she sent, and I told her all I 

how thou wert a brave soldier, and a- But for God’s I 

sake, get off Tressilian !” 

“I will — I will,” said Blount; “but methinks this court- j! 
haunting is no such bad pastime, after all. We shall rise by | 
20 it, Walter, my brave lad. Thou said’st I was a good soldier, 
and a- What besides, dearest Walter?” 

“An all unutterable — cod’s-head.° For God’s sake, be- 1 
gone!” 

Tressilian, without farther resistance or expostulation, fol- « 
25 lowed, or rather suffered himself to be conducted by Blount | 
to Raleigh’s lodgings, where he was formally installed into a 
small truckle-bed, placed in a wardrobe and designed for a 
domestic. He saw but too plainly that no remonstrances f 
would avail to procure the help or sympathy of his friends, 

30 un til the lapse of the time for which he had pledged himself j 
to remain inactive should enable him either to explain the J 
whole circumstances to them, or remove from him every pre¬ 
text or desire of farther interference with the fortunes of 
Amy, by her having found means to place herself in a state 
35 of reconciliation with her husband. 

With great difficulty, and only by the most patient and 
mild remonstrances with Blount, he escaped the disgrace and 
mortification of having two of Sussex’s stoutest yeomen \ 
quartered in his apartment. At last, however, when Nich- , 
40 olas had seen him fairly deposited in his truckle-bed, and had 
bestowed one or two hearty kicks, and as hearty curses, on 
the boots, which, in his lately acquired spirit of foppery, he 
considered as a strong symptom, if not the cause, of’his 





KENILWORTH 


359 


friend’s malady, he contented himself with the modified 
measure of locking the door on the unfortunate Tressilian, 
whose gallant and disinterested efforts to save a female 
who had treated him with ingratitude thus terminated, for 
the present, in the displeasure of his sovereign, and the 5 
conviction of his friends that he was little better than a 
madman. 






CHAPTER XXXII 


The wisest sovereigns err like private men, 

And royal hand has sometimes laid the sword 
Of chivalry upon a worthless shoulder, 

Which better had been branded by the hangman. 

What then ? Kings do their best; and they and we 
Must answer for the intent, and not the event. 

Old Play. 

“ It is a melancholy matter,” said the Queen, when Tres- 
silian was withdrawn, “to see a wise and learned man’s wit 
thus pitifully unsettled. Yet this public display of his 
imperfection of brain plainly shows us that his supposed 
5 injury and accusation were fruitless; and therefore, my 
Lord of Leicester, we remember your suit formerly made to 
us in behalf of your faithful servant Varney, whose good 
gifts and fidelity, as they are useful to you, ought to have due 
reward from us, knowing well that your lordship, and all 
io you have, are so earnestly devoted to our service. And we 
render Varney the honour more especially that we are a 
guest, and we fear a chargeable and troublesome one, under 
your lordship’s roof; and also for the satisfaction of the 
good old knight of Devon, Sir Hugh Robsart, whose daughter 
15 he hath married; and we trust the especial mark of grace 
which we are about to confer may reconcile him to his son- 
in-law. Your sword, my Lord of Leicester.” 

The earl unbuckled his sword, and, taking it by the point, 
presented on bended knee the hilt to Elizabeth. 

20 She took it slowly, drew it from the scabbard, and while 
the ladies who stood around turned away their eyes with real 
or affected shuddering, she noted with a curious eye the high 
polish and rich damasked ornaments upon the glittering 
blade. 

25 “ Had I been a man,” she said, “methinks none of my an¬ 

cestors would have loved a good sword better. As it is with 
me, I like to look on one, and could, like the fairy of whom I 
have read in some Italian rhymes 0 — were my godson Har- 

360 





KENILWORTH 


361 


rington here, he could tell me the passage — even trim my 
hair and arrange my head-gear in such a steel mirror as this 
is. Richard Varney, come forth and kneel down. In the 
name of God and St. George, we dub thee knight! Be faith¬ 
ful, brave, and fortunate. Arise, Sir Richard Varney.” 5 

Varney arose and retired, making a deep obeisance to the 
sovereign who had done him so much honour. 

“The buckling of the spur, and what other rites remain,” 
said the Queen, “ may be finished to-morrow in the chapel; 
for we intend Sir Richard Varney a companion in his hon- 10 
ours. And as we must not be partial in conferring such 
distinction, we mean on this matter to confer with our cousin 
of Sussex.” 

That noble earl, who, since his arrival at Kenilworth, and 
indeed since the commencement of this progress, had found 15 
himself in a subordinate situation to Leicester, was now wear¬ 
ing a heavy cloud on his brow — a circumstance which had 
not escaped the Queen, who hoped to appease his discontent, 
and to follow out her system of balancing policy, by a mark 
of peculiar favour, the more gratifying as it was tendered at a 20 
moment when his rival’s triumph appeared to be complete. 

At the summons of Queen Elizabeth, Sussex hastily ap¬ 
proached her person; and being asked on which of his fol¬ 
lowers, being a gentleman and of merit, he would wish the 
honour of knighthood to be conferred, he answered, with 25 
more sincerity than policy, that he would have ventured to 
speak for Tressilian, to whom he conceived he owed his own 
life, and who was a distinguished soldier and scholar, besides 
a man of unstained lineage, “only,” he said, “he feared the 

events of that night-” and then he stopped. 30 

“ I am glad your lordship is thus considerate,” said Eliza¬ 
beth ; “ the events of this night would make us, in the eyes of 
our subjects, as mad as this poor brain-sick gentleman him¬ 
self _for we ascribe his conduct to no malice — should we 

choose this moment to do him grace.” 35 

“In that case,” said the Earl of Sussex, somewhat dis¬ 
countenanced, “your Majesty will allow me to name my 
master of the horse, Master Nicholas Blount, a gentleman of 
fair estate and ancient name, who has served your Majesty 
both in Scotland and Ireland, and brought away bloody 40 
marks on his person, all honourably taken and requited. 

The Queen could not help shrugging her shoulders slightly 
, even at this second suggestion; and the Duchess of Rutland, 






KENIL WORTH 


362 


who read in the Queen’s manner that she had expected Sus¬ 
sex would have named Raleigh, and thus would have enabled 
her to gratify her own wish while she honoured his recom¬ 
mendation, only waited the Queen’s assent to what he had 
5 proposed, and then said, that she hoped, since these two high 
nobles had been each permitted to suggest a candidate for the 
honours of chivalry, she, in behalf of the ladies in presence, 
might have a similar indulgence. 

“I were no woman to refuse you such a boon,” said the 
io Queen, smiling. 

“Then,” pursued the duchess, “in the name of these fair 
ladies present, I request your Majesty to confer the rank of 
knighthood on Walter Raleigh, whose birth, deeds of arms, 
and promptitude to serve our sex with sword or pen, deserve 
15 such distinction from us all.” 

“Gramercy, fair ladies,” said Elizabeth, smiling, “your 
boon is granted, and the gentle squire Lack-Coat shall be¬ 
come the good knight Lack-Coat at your desire. Let the two 
aspirants for the honour of chivalry step forward.” 

20 Blount was not as yet returned from seeing Tressilian, as 
he conceived, safely disposed of; but Raleigh came forth, 
and, kneeling down, received at the hand of the Virgin Queen 
that title of honour, which was never conferred on a more 
distinguished or more illustrious object. 

25 Shortly afterwards, Nicholas Blount entered, and, hastily 
apprised by Sussex, who met him at the door of the hall, of- 
the Queen’s gracious purpose regarding him, he was desired 
to advance towards the throne. It is a sight sometimes 
seen, and it is both ludicrous and pitiable, when an honest 
30 man of plain common sense is surprised, by the coquetry of a 
pretty woman or any other cause, into those frivolous fop¬ 
peries which only sit well upon the youthful, the gay, and 
those whom long practice has rendered them a second nature. 
Poor Blount was in this situation. His head was already 
35 giddy from a consciousness of unusual finery, and the sup¬ 
posed necessity of suiting his manners to the gaiety of his 
dress; and now this sudden view of promotion altogether 
completed the conquest of the newly inhaled spirit of foppery 
over his natural disposition, and converted a plain, honest, 
40 awkward man into a coxcomb of a new and most ridiculous 
kind. 

The knight-expectant advanced up the hall, the whole 
length of which he had unfortunately to traverse, turning out 




KENILWORTH 


363 


bis toes with so much zeal that he presented his leg at every 
step with its broad side foremost, so that it greatly resembled 
an old-fashioned table-knife with a curved point, when seen 
sideways. The rest of his gait was in correspondence with 
this unhappy amble; and the implied mixture of bashful fear 5 
and self-satisfaction was so unutterably ridiculous that Leices¬ 
ter’s friends did not suppress a titter, in which many of 
Sussex’s partizans were unable to resist joining, though 
ready to eat their nails with mortification. Sussex himself 
lost all patience, and could not forbear whispering into the 10 
ear of his friend, “ Curse thee ! canst thou not walk like a man 
and a soldier?” an interjection which only made honest 
Blount start and stop, until a glance at his yellow roses and 
crimson stockings restored his self-confidence, when on he 
went at the same pace as before. 15 

The Queen conferred on poor Blount the honour of knight¬ 
hood with a marked sense of reluctance. That wise princess 
was fully aware of the propriety of using great circumspec¬ 
tion and economy in bestowing these titles of honour, which 
the Stuarts, who succeeded to her throne, distributed with an 20 
imprudent liberality which greatly diminished their value. 
Blount had no sooner arisen and retired than she turned to 
the Duchess of Rutland. “ Our woman wit,” she said, “ dear 
Rutland, is sharper than that of those proud things in doub¬ 
let and hose. Seest thou, out of these three knights, thine 25 
is the only true metal to stamp chivalry’s imprint upon ? ” 

“Sir Richard Varney, surely — the friend of my Lord of 
Leicester— surely he has merit,” replied the duchess. 

“ Varney has a sly countenance and a smooth tongue,” re¬ 
plied the Queen. “ I fear me, he will prove a knave; but the 3° 
promise was of ancient standing. My Lord of Sussex must 
have lost his own wits, I think, to recommend to us first a 
madman like Tressilian and then a clownish fool like this 
other fellow. I protest, Rutland, that while he sat on his 
knees before me, mopping and mowing as if he had scalding 35 
porridge in his mouth, I had much ado to forbear cutting him 
over the pate, instead of striking his shoulder.” 

“Your Majesty gave him a smart accolade, 0 ” said the 
duchess; “we who stood behind heard the blade clatter 
on his collar-bone, and the poor man fidgeted too as if he 40 

fel “ I^could not help it, wench,” said the Queen, laughing; 

“ but we will have this same Sir Nicholas sent to Ireland or 



364 


KENILWORTH 


Scotland, or somewhere, to rid our court of so antic a 
chevalier; he may be a good soldier in the field, though a 
preposterous ass in a banqueting-hall.” 

The discourse became then more general, and soon after 
5 there was a summons to the banquet. 

In order to obey this signal, the company were under the 
necessity of crossing the inner court of the castle, that they 
might reach the new buildings, containing the large'ban- 
queting-room, in which preparations for supper were made 
ioupon a scale of profuse magnificence corresponding to the 
occasion. 

The livery cupboards were loaded with plate of the richest 
description, and the most varied; some articles tasteful, 
some perhaps grotesque, in the invention and decoration, but 
15 all gorgeously magnificent, both from the richness of the 
work and value of the materials. Thus the chief table was 
adorned by a salt, ship-fashion, made of mother-of-pearl, 
garnished with silver and divers warlike ensigns, and other 
ornaments, anchors, sails, and sixteen pieces of ordnance. 
20 It bore a figure of Fortune, placed on a globe, with a flag in 
her hand. Another salt was fashioned of silver, in the form 
of a swan in full sail. That chivalry might not be omitted 
amid this splendour, a silver St. George was presented, 
mounted and equipped in the usual fashion in which he be- 
25 strides the dragon. The figures were moulded to be in some 
sort useful. The horse’s tail was managed to hold a case of 
knives, while the breast of the dragon presented a similar ac¬ 
commodation for oyster knives. 

In the course of the passage from the hall of reception to 
30 the banqueting-room, and especially in the courtyard, the 
new-made knights were assailed by the heralds, pursuivants, 
minstrels, etc., with the usual cry of “Largesse — largesse , 
chevaliers tres hardis! 0 ” an ancient invocation, intended to 
awaken the bounty of the acolytes of chivalry towards those 
35 whose business it was to register their armorial bearings, and 
celebrate the deeds by which they were illustrated. The 
call, of course, was liberally and courteously answered by 
those to whom it was addressed. . Varney gave his largesse 
with an affectation of complaisance and humility. Raleigh 
40 bestowed his with the graceful ease peculiar to one who has 
attained his own place, and is familiar with its dignity. 
Honest Blount gave what his tailor had left him of his half- 
year’s rent, dropping some pieces in his hurry, then stooping 


KENILWORTH 


365 ' 


down to look for them, and then distributing them amongst 
the various claimants with the anxious face and mien of the 
parish beadle dividing a dole among paupers. 

These donations were accepted with the usual clamour and 
vivats 0 of applause common on such occasions; but, as the 5 
parties gratified were chiefly dependents of Lord Leicester, 
it was Varney whose name was repeated with the loudest 
acclamations. Lambourne, especially, distinguished himself 
by his vociferations of “Long life to Sir Richard Varney! 
Health and honour to Sir Richard! Never was a more io 

worthy knight dubbed-!” then, suddenly sinking his 

voice, he added, “since the valiant Sir Pandarus of Troy 0 ” 

— a winding-up of his clamorous applause which set all men 
a-laughing who were within hearing of it. 

It is unnecessary to say anything farther of the festivities 15 
of the evening, which were so brilliant in themselves, and re¬ 
ceived with such obvious and willing satisfaction by the 
Queen, that Leicester retired to his own apartment with all 
the giddy raptures of successful ambition. Varney, who had 
changed his splendid attire, and now waited on his patron in 20 
a very modest and plain undress, attended to do the honours 
of the earl’s coucher . 0 

“How! Sir Richard,” said Leicester, smiling, “your new 
rank scarce suits the humility of this attendance.” 

“ I woulft disown that rank, my lord,” said Varney, “ could 25 
I think it was to^emove me to a distance from your lordship’s 
person.” 

“Thou art a grateful fellow,” said Leicester; “but I must 
not allow you to do what would abate you in the opinion of 
others.” 30 

While thus speaking, he still accepted, without hesitation, 
the offices about his person, which the new-made knight 
seemed to render as eagerly as if he had really felt, in dis¬ 
charging the task, that pleasure which his words expressed. 

“I am not afraid of men’s misconstruction,” he said, in 35 
answer to Leicester’s remark, “ since there is not — permit 
me to undo the collar — a man within the castle who- does 
not expect very soon to see persons of a rank far superior to 
that which, by your goodness, I now hold, rendering the 
duties of the bed-chamber to you, and accounting it an hon- 40 
our.” 

“It might, indeed, so have been,” said the earl, with an 
involuntary sigh; and then presently added: “My gown, 






366 


KENILWORTH 


Varney — I will look out on the night. Is not the moon near 
to the full?” 

“I think so, my lord, according to the calendar,” an¬ 
swered Varney. 

5 There was an abutting window, which opened on a small 
projecting balcony of stone, battlemented as is usual in 
Gothic castles. The earl undid the lattice, and stepped out 
into the open air. The station he had chosen commanded 
an extensive view of the lake and woodlands beyond, where 
io the bright moonlight rested on the clear blue waters and the 
distant masses of oak and elm trees. The moon rode high in 
the heavens, attended by thousands and thousands of inferior 
luminaries. All seemed already to be hushed in the nether 
world, excepting occasionally the voice of the watch, for the 
15 yeomen of the guard performed that duty wherever the Queen 
was present in person, and the distant baying of the hounds, 
disturbed by the preparations amongst the grooms and 
prickers for a magnificent hunt, which was to be the amuse¬ 
ment of the next day. 

20 Leicester looked out on the blue arch of heaven, with ges¬ 
tures and a countenance expressive of anxious exultation, 
while Varney, who remained within the darkened apart¬ 
ment, could, himself unnoticed, with a secret satisfaction, 
see his patron stretch his hands with earnest gesticulation 
25 towards the heavenly bodies. 

“Ye distant orbs of living fire,” so raj| the muttered 
invocation of the ambitious earl, “ye are silent while you 
wheel your mystic rounds, but Wisdom has given to you a 
voice. Tell me, then, to what end is my high course 
30 destined! Shall the greatness to which I have aspired be 
bright, preeminent, and stable as your own; or am I but 
doomed to draw a brief and glittering train along the 
nightly darkness and then to sink down to earth, like the 
base refuse of those artificial fires with which men emulate 
35 your rays?” 

He looked on the heavens in profound silence for a minute 
or tw'o longer, and then .again stepped into the apartment, 
where Varney seemed to have been engaged in putting the 
earl’s jewels into a casket. 

40 “What said Alasco of my horoscope?” demanded Leices¬ 
ter. “You already told me, but it has escaped me, for I 
think but lightly of that art.” 

“ Many learned and great men have thought otherwise,” 



KENILWORTH 


367 


: : said Varney; “ and, not to flatter your lordship my own opin- 
ion leans that way.” 

i Saul amon g the prophets 0 !” said Leicester. “I 

1 thought thou wert sceptical in all such matters ‘as thou 
■ couldst neither see, hear, smell, taste, or touch, and that thy c 
I belief was limited by thy senses.” 

! “ Perhaps, my lord,” said Varney, “ I may be misled on the 
present occasion by my wish to find the predictions of astrol- 
| ogy true. Alasco says that your favourite planet is culmi- 
i mating, and that the adverse influence — he would not use a JO 
! plainer term — though not overcome, was evidently com- 
I bust, I think he said, or retrograde.” 

“ is even so,” said Leicester, looking at an abstract of 
B astrological calculations which he had in his hand: “the 
I stronger influence will prevail, and, as I think, the evil hour j 5 
B pass away. Lend me your hand, Sir Richard, to doff my 
I gown; and remain an instant, if it is not too burdensome to 

I your knighthood, while I compose myself to sleep. I believe 
j the bustle of this day has fevered my blood, for it streams 
through my veins like a current of molten lead — remain an 20 
instant, I pray you: I would fain feel my eyes heavy ere I 
I closed them.” 

Varney officiously assisted his lord to bed, and placed a 
I massive silver night-lamp, with a short sword, on a marble 
■ table which stood by the head of the couch. Either in 25 
j order to avoid the light of the lamp or to hide his counte¬ 
nance from Varney, Leicester drew the curtain, heavy with 
j entwined silk and gold, so as completely to shade his face. 
Varney took a seat near the bed, but with his back towards 
his master, as if to intimate that he was not watching him, 30 
and quietly waited till Leicester himself led the way to the 
topic by which his mind was engrossed. 

| . “And so, Varney,” said the earl, after waiting in vain till 
his dependant should commence the conversation, “men talk 
of the Queen’s favour towards me?” 35 

. “ Ay, my good lord,” said Varney; “ of what can they else, 
since it is so strongly manifested ? ” 

“She is indeed my good and gracious mistress,” said 
[ Leicester, after another pause; “but it is written, 'Put not 
j thy trust in princes. 0 ’” 4 o 

"A good sentence and a true,” said Varney, “unless you 
i can unite their interest with yours so absolutely that they 
must needs sit on your wrist like hooded hawks.” 





368 


KENILWORTH 


“I know what thou meanest,” said Leicester, impatiently, 

“ though thou art to-night so prudentially careful of what 
thou sayst to me. Thou wouldst intimate, I might marry 
the Queen if I would?” 

5 “ It is your speech, my lord, not mine, _ answered Varney; 

“but whosesoever be the speech, it is the thought of 
ninety-nine out of an hundred men throughout broad 

^*Ay, but,” said Leicester, turning himself in his bed, “the 
io hundredth man knows better. Thou, for example, knowest 
the obstacle that cannot be overleaped.” 

“It must, my lord, if the stars speak true, said Varney, 

composedly. • , u ,, , , 

“ What! talk’st thou of them,” said Leicester, that be- 

15 lie vest not in them or in aught else?” „ 

“You mistake, my lord, under your gracious pardon, 
said Varney: “I believe in many things that predict the 
future. I believe, if showers fall in April, that we shall have 
flowers in May; that if the sun shines, grain will ripen; and 
20 I believe in much natural philosophy to the same effect, 
which, if the stars swear to me, I will say the stars speak the 
truth. And in like manner, I will not disbelieve that which 
I see wished for and expected on earth, solely because the 
astrologers have read it in the heavens.” . 

25 “Thou art right,” said Leicester, again tossing himself on 
his couch — “ earth does wish for it. I have had advices 
from the Reformed Churches of Germany, from the Low 
Countries, from Switzerland, urging this as a point on which 
Europe’s safety depends. France will not oppose it. The 
30 ruling party in Scotland look to it as their best security. 
Spain fears it, but cannot prevent it. And yet thou knowest 
it is impossible.” 

“ I know not that, my lord,” said Varney: the countess 
is indisposed.” 

35 “Villain!” said Leicester, starting up on his couch, and 
seizing the sword which lay on the table beside him, “ go thy 
thoughts that way? Thou wouldst not do murder?” 

“ For whom or what do you hold me, my lord? ” said Var¬ 
ney, assuming the superiority of an innocent man subjected 
40 to unjust suspicion. “I said nothing to deserve such a 
horrid imputation as your violence infers. I said but that 
the countess was ill. And countess though she be lovely 
and beloved as she is, surely your lordship must hold her to 



KENILWORTH 


369 


be mortal? She may die, and your lordship’s hand become 
once more your own.” 

“ Away ! — away !” said Leicester; “let me have no more 
of this.” 

Good-night, my lord,” said Varney, seeming to under- 5 
stand this as a command to depart; but Leicester’s voice 
interrupted his purpose. 

“Thou ’scapest me not thus, sir fool,” said he; “I think 
thy knighthood has addled thy brains. Confess thou hast 
talked of impossibilities as of things which may come to 10 
pass.” 

“My lord, long live your fair countess,” said Varney; 

. but neither your love nor my good wishes can make her 
immortal. But God grant she live long to be happy herself, 
and to render you so ! I see not but you may be King of ic 
England notwithstanding.” 

“Nay, now, Varney, thou art stark mad,” said Leicester. 

I would I were myself within the same nearness to a good 
estate of freehold,” said Varney. “Have we not known in 
other countries, how a left-handed marriage might subsist 20 
betwixt persons of differing degree ? — ay, and be no hin- 
derance to prevent the husband from conjoining himself 
afterwards with a more suitable partner?” 

“ I have heard of such things in Germany,” said Leicester. 

“Ay, and the most learned doctors in foreign universities 25 
justify the practice from the Old Testament,” said Varney. 
“And, after all, where is the harm? The beautiful partner 
whom you have chosen for true love has your secret hours 
of relaxation and affection. Her fame is safe; her conscience 
may slumber securely. You have wealth to provide royally 30 
for your issue, should Heaven bless you with offspring. 
Meanwhile, you may give to Elizabeth ten times the leisure, 
and ten thousand times the affection, that ever Don Philip of 
Spain spared to her sister Mary; yet you know how she doted 
on him though so cold and neglectful. It requires but a close 35 
mouth and an open brow, and you keep your Eleanor and 
your fair Rosamond 0 far enough separate. Leave me to 
build you a bower to which no jealous queen shall find a 
clue.” 

Leicester was silent for a moment, then sighed and said: 40 
“It is impossible. Good-night, Sir Richard Varney; yet 

stay- Can you guess what meant Tressilian by showing 

himself in such careless guise before the Queen to-day? 

2 B 











370 


KENILWORTH 


To strike her tender heart, I should guess, with all the 
sympathies due to a lover abandoned by his mistr'ess, and 
abandoning himself.” _ 

Varney, smothering a sneering laugh, answered: He be- 
S lieved Master Tressilian had no such matter in his head. 

“How!” said Leicester, “what mean’st thou? There is 
ever knavery in that laugh of thine, Varney.” 

“I only meant, my lord,” said Varney, “that Tressilian 
has taken the sure way to avoid heart-breaking. He hath 
io had a companion — a female companion — a mistress — a 
sort of player’s wife or sister, as I believe — with him in 
Mervyn’s Bower, where I quartered him for certain reasons 
of my own.” 

“A mistress ! mean’st thou a paramour?’ 

15 “ Ay, my lord; what female else waits for hours in a gen¬ 

tleman’s chamber?” 

“ By my faith, time and space fitting, this were a good tale 
to tell,” said Leicester. “I ever distrusted those bookish, 
hypocritical, seeming-virtuous scholars. Well, Master Tres- 
20 silian makes somewhat familiar with my house; if I look it 
over, he is indebted to it for certain recollections. I would 
not harm him more than I can help. Keep eye on him, how¬ 
ever, Varney.” 

“ I lodged him for that reason,” said Varney, “ in Mervyn’s 
25 Tower, where he is under the eye of my very vigilant, if he 
were not also my very drunken, servant, Michael Lambourne, 
whom I have told your Grace of.” 

“ Grace ! ” said Leicester; “ what mean’ st thou by that epi¬ 
thet?” 

3° “It came unawares, my lord; and yet it sounds so very 
natural that I cannot recall it.” 

“ It is thine own preferment that hath turned thy brain,” 
said Leicester, laughing; “ new honours are as heady as new 
wine.” 

35 “ May your lordship soon have cause to say so from expe¬ 

rience,” said Varney; and, wishing his patron good-night, he 
withdrew. 



CHAPTER XXXIII 


Here stands the victim; there the proud betrayer. 

E'en as the hind pull'd down by strangling dogs 
Lies at the hunter’s feet, who courteous proffers 
To some high dame, the Dian of the chase, 

To whom he looks for guerdon, his sharp blade, 

To gash the sobbing throat. 

The Woodsman , 

We are now to return to Mervyn’s Bower, the apartment, 
or rather the prison, of the unfortunate Countess of Leicester, 
who for some time kept within bounds her uncertainty and 
her impatience. She was aware that, in the tumult of the 
I day, there might be some delay ere her letter could be safely 5 
I conveyed to the hands of Leicester, and that some time more 
might elapse ere he could extricate himself from the neces¬ 
sary attendance on Elizabeth, to come and visit her in her 
I secret bower. “ I will not expect him,” she said, “ till night: 

|j he cannot be absent from his royal guest, even to see me. 10 
i| He will, I know, come earlier if it be possible, but I will not 
| expect him before night.” And yet all the while she did 
I expect him; and, while she tried to argue herself into a 

I contrary belief, each hasty noise, of the hundred which she 
heard, sounded like the hurried step of Leicester on the 15 
staircase, hasting to fold her in his arms. 

The fatigue of body which Amy had lately undergone, 

J with the agitation of mind natural to so cruel a state of 
I uncertainty, began by degrees strongly to affect her nerves, 

I and she almost feared her total inability to maintain the 20 
I necessary self-command through the scenes which might 
lie before her. But, although spoiled by an over-indulgent 
I system of education, Amy had naturally a mind of great 
* power, united with a frame which her share in her father’s 
woodland exercises had rendered uncommonly healthy. 25 
She summoned to her aid such mental and bodily resources; 
and not unconscious how much the issue of her fate might 
depend on her own self-possession, she prayed internally 
for strength of body and for mental fortitude, and resolved, 

371 






372 


KENILWORTH 


at the same time, to yield to no nervous impulse which 
might weaken either. 

Yet, when the great bell of the castle, which was placed in 
Caesar’s Tower, at no great distance from that called Mervyn’s, 

5 began to send its pealing clamour abroad, in signal of the ar¬ 
rival of the royal procession, the din was so painfully acute to 
ears rendered nervously sensitive by anxiety, that she could 
hardly forbear shrieking with anguish in answer to every 
stunning clash of the relentless peal, 
io Shortly afterwards, when the small apartment was at once 
enlightened by the shower of artificial fires with which the air 
was suddenly filled, and which crossed each other like fiery 
spirits, each bent on his own separate mission, or like sala¬ 
manders executing a frolic dance in the region of the sylphs, 0 
15 the countess felt at first as if each rocket shot close by her 
eyes, and discharged its sparks and flashes so nigh that she 
could feel a sense of the heat. But she struggled against 
these fantastic terrors, and compelled herself to arise, stand 
by the window, look out, and gaze upon a sight which at 
20 another time would have appeared to her at once captivating 
and fearful. The magnificent towers of the castle were 
enveloped in garlands of artificial fire, or shrouded with 
tiaras of pale smoke. The surface of the lake glowed like 
molten iron, while many fireworks (then thought extremely 
25 wonderful, though now common), whose flame continued to 
exist in the opposing element, dived and rose, hissed and 
roared, and spouted fire, like so many dragons of enchant¬ 
ment sporting upon a burning lake. 

Even Amy was for a moment interested by what was to her 
30 so new a scene. “ I had thought it magical art,” she said, 
“but poor Tressilian taught me to judge of such things as 
they are. Great God! and may not these idle splendours 
resemble my own hoped-for happiness — a single spark, 
which is instantly swallowed up by surrounding darkness — 
35 a precarious glow, which rises but for a brief space into the 
air, that its fall may be the lower? O Leicester ! after all — 
all that thou hast said — hast sworn — that Amy was thy 
love, thy life, can it be that thou art the magician at whose 
nod these enchantments arise, and that she sees them as an 
40 outcast, if not a captive?” 

The sustained, prolonged, and repeated bursts of music 
from so many different quarters, and at so many varying 
points of distance, which sounded as if not the Castle of 


KENILWORTH 


373 


Kenilworth only, but the whole country around, had been at 
once the scene of solemnising some high national festival, 
carried the same oppressive thought still closer to her heart, 
while some notes would melt in distant and falling tones, 
as if in compassion for her sorrows, and some burst close and 5 
near upon her, as if mocking her misery, with all the insolence 
i of unlimited mirth. “ These sounds,” she said, “ are mine — 
mine because they are his; but I cannot say, ‘Be still, 

! these loud strains suit me not; ’ and the voice of the meanest 
! peasant that mingles in the dance would have more power to 10 
modulate the music than the command of her who is mistress 
of all!” 

By degrees the sounds of revelry died away, and the count¬ 
ess withdrew from the window at which she had sate listen¬ 
ing to them. It was night, but the moon afforded considera- 15 
ble light in the room, so that Amy was able to make the 
j arrangement which she judged necessary. There was hope 
that- Leicester might come to her apartment as soon as the 
revel in the castle had subsided; but there was also risk she 
I might be disturbed by some unauthorised intruder. She had 20 
lost confidence in the key, since Tressilian had entered so 
|; easily, though the door was locked on the inside; yet all the 
j additional security she could think of was to place the table 
I across the door, that she might be warned by the noise, 

I should any one attempt to enter. Having taken these 25 
necessary precautions, the unfortunate lady withdrew to her 
couch, stretched herself down on it, mused in anxious ex¬ 
pectation, and counted more than one hour after midnight, 
till exhausted nature proved too strong for love, for grief, 
for fear, nay, even for uncertainty, and she slept. 30 

Yes, she slept. The Indian sleeps at the stake, in the in¬ 
tervals between his tortures; and mental torments, in like 
manner, exhaust by long continuance the sensibility of the 
sufferer, so that an interval of lethargic repose must neces¬ 
sarily ensue ere the pangs which they inflict can again be re- 35 
newed. 

The countess slept, then, for several hours, and dreamed 
that she was in the ancient house at Cumnor Place, listening 
for the low whistle with which Leicester often used to an¬ 
nounce his presence in the courtyard, when arriving sud-40 
denly on one of his stolen visits. But on this occasion, 
instead of a whistle, she heard the peculiar blast of a bugle- 
horn, such as her father used to wind on the fall of the stag, 








374 


KENILWORTH 


and which huntsmen then called a “mort.” She ran, as 
she thought, to a window that looked into the courtyard, 
which she saw filled with men in mourning garments, the 
old curate seemed about to read the funeral service. Mum- 
5 blazen, tricked out in an antique dress, like an ancient 
herald, held aloft a scutcheon, with its usual decorations of 
skulls, cross-bones, and hour-glasses, surrounding a coat-ol- 
arms, of which she could only distinguish that it was sur¬ 
mounted with an earl’s coronet. The old man looked at her 
io with a ghastly smile, and said: “ Amy, are they not rightly 
quartered?” Just as he spoke, the horns again poured on 
her ear the melancholy yet wild strain of the mort, or death- 

note, and she awoke. ,, ,, 

The countess awoke to hear a real bugle-note, or rather the 
15 combined breath of many bugles, sounding not the mort 
but the jolly reveille, to remind the inmates of the Lastle ol 
Kenilworth that the pleasures of the day were to commence 
with a magnificent stag-hunting in the neighbouring chase. 
Amy started up from her couch, listened to the sound, saw 
20 the first beams of the summer morning already twinkle 
through the lattice of her window, and recollected, with 
feelings of giddy agony, where she was, and how circum- 
stO/iiccd 

“ He thinks not of me,” she said— “ he will not come nigh 
25 me ! A queen is his guest, and what cares he in what corner 
of his huge castle a wretch like me pines in doubt, which is 
fast fading into despair?” At once a sound at the door, as 
of some one attempting to open it softly, filled her with an in¬ 
effable mixture of joy and fear; and, hastening to remove 
30 the obstacle she had placed against the door, and to 
unlock it, she had the precaution to ask: “ Is it thou, my 

love? ” . 

“Yes, my countess,” murmured a whisper m reply. 

She threw open the door, and exclaiming, “ Leicester! 

35 flung her arms around the neck of the man who stood with¬ 
out, muffled in his cloak. 

“No — not quite Leicester,” answered Michael Lam- 
bourne, for he it was, returning the caress with vehemence 
— “not quite Leicester, my lovely and most loving duchess, 
40 but as good a man.” 

With an exertion of force of which she would at another 
time have thought herself incapable, the countess freed 
herself from the profane and profaning grasp of the drunken 



KENILWORTH 


375 


debauchee, and retreated into the midst of her apartments, 
where despair gave her courage to make a stand. 

As Lambourne, on entering, dropped the lap of his cloak 
from his face,she knew Varney’s profligate servant, the very 
last person, excepting his detested master, by whom she 5 
would have wished to be discovered. But she was still 
closely muffled in her travelling dress, and as Lambourne had 
scarce ever been admitted to her presence at Cumnor Place, 
her person, she hoped, might not be so well known to him as 
his was to her, owing to Janet’s pointing him frequently out 10 
as he crossed the court, and telling stories of his wickedness. 
She might have had still greater confidence in her disguise 
had her experience enabled her to discover that he was 
much intoxicated; but this could scarce have consoled her 
for the risk which she might incur from such a character, 15 
in such a time, place, and circumstances. 

Lambourne flung the door behind him as he entered, and 
folding his arms, as if in mockery of the attitude of distrac¬ 
tion into which Amy had thrown herself, he proceeded thus: 

“ Hark ye, most fair Calipolis 0 — or most lovely countess of 20 
clouts, and divine duchess of dark corners — if thou takest 
all that trouble of skewering thyself together, like a trussed 
fowl, that there may be more pleasure in the carving, even 
save thyself the labour. I love thy first frank manner the 
best; like thy present as little (he made a step towards her, 25 
and staggered) — as little as — such a damned uneven 
floor as this, where a gentleman may break his neck, if he 
does not walk as upright as a posture-master on the tight¬ 
rope.” 

“ Stand back!” said the countess: “do not approach 30 
nearer to me on thy peril! ” 

“ My peril! and stand back ! Why, how now, madam ? 
Must you have a better mate than honest Mike Lambourne? 

I have been in America, girl, where the gold grows, and have 

brought off such a load on’t-” 35 

“Good friend,” said the countess in great terror at the 
ruffian’s determined and audacious manner, “I prithee 
begone, and leave me.” 

“ And so I will, pretty one, when we are tired of each oth¬ 
er’s company, not a jot sooner.” He seized her by the arm, 40 
while, incapable of further defence, she uttered shriek upon 
shriek. “ Nay, scream away if you like it,” said he, still 
holding her fast; “ I have heard the sea at the loudest, and 










376 


KENILWORTH 


I mind a squalling woman no more than a miauling kitten. 
Damn me! I have heard fifty or a hundred screaming at 
once, when there was a town stormed.” 

The cries of the countess, however, brought unexpected 
5 aid, in the person of Laurence Staples, who had heard her 
exclamations from his apartment below, and entered in good 
time to save her from being discovered, if not from more 
atrocious violence. Laurence was drunk also from the de¬ 
bauch of the preceding night; but fortunately his intoxica- 
io tion had taken a different turn from that of Lambourne. 

“What the devil’s noise is this in the ward?” he said. 
“ What! man and woman together in the same cell! that is 
against rule. I will have decency under my rule, by St. 
Peter of the Fetters.” 

15 “Get thee downstairs, thou drunken beast,” said Lam¬ 
bourne ; “ seest thou not the lady° and I would be private ? ” 

“ Good sir — worthy sir,” said the countess, addressing the 
jailor, “do but save me from him, for the sake of mercy!” 

“ She speaks fairly,” said the jailor, “ and I will take her 
20 part. I love my prisoners; and I have had as good prisoners 
under my key as they have had in Newgate 0 or the Compter. 
And so, being one of my lambkins, as I say, no one shall dis¬ 
turb her in her penfold. So, let go the woman, or I’ll knock 
your brains out with my keys.” 

25 “I’ll make a blood-pudding of thy midriff first,” answered 
Lambourne, laying his left hand on his dagger, but still de¬ 
taining the countess by the arm with his right. “ So have at 
thee, thou old ostrich, whose only living is upon a bunch of 
iron keys! ” 

30 Laurence raised the arm of Michael, and prevented him 
from drawing his dagger; and as Lambourne struggled and 
strove to shake him off, the countess'made a sudden exertion 
on her side, and slipping her hand out of the glove on which 
the ruffian still kept hold, she gained her liberty and, escap- 
35 ing from the apartment, ran downstairs; while, at the same 
moment, she heard the two combatants fall on the floor with 
a noise which increased her terror. The outer wicket offered 
no impediment to her flight, having been opened for Lam- 
bourne’s admittance; so that she succeeded in escaping 
40 down the stair, and fled into the Pleasance, which seemed to 
her hasty glance the direction in which she was most likely 
to avoid pursuit. 

Meanwhile, Laurence and Lambourne rolled on the floor of 








KENILWORTH 


377 


the apartment, closely grappled together. Neither had, 
happily, opportunity to draw their daggers; but Laurence 
found space enough to dash his heavy keys across Michael’s 
face, and Michael, in return, grasped the turnkey so felly by 
the throat that the blood gushed from nose and mouth; 5 
so that they were both gory and filthy spectacles, when one 
of the other officers of the household, attracted by the noise 
of the fray, entered the room, and with some difficulty 
effected the separation of the combatants. 

“A murrain on you both,” said the charitable mediator, 10 
“ and especially on you, Master Lambourne! What the 
fiend lie you here for, fighting on the floor, like two butchers’ 
curs in the kennel of the shambles ? ” 

Lambourne arose, and, somewhat sobered by the inter¬ 
position of a third party, looked with something less than 15 
his usual brazen impudence of visage. “We fought for a 
wench, an thou must know,” was his reply. 

“ A wench ! Where is she ? ” said the officer. 

“Why, vanished, I think,” said Lambourne, looking 
around him; “ unless Laurence hath swallowed her. That 20 
filthy paunch of his devours as many distressed damsels 
and oppressed orphans as e’er a giant in King Arthur’s 
history: they are his prime food; he worries them body, 
soul, and substance.” 

“ Ay — ay ! It’s no matter,” said Laurence,.gathering up 25 
his huge ungainly form from the floor; “ but I have had your 
betters, Master Michael Lambourne, under the little turn of 
my forefinger and thumb; and I shall have thee, before all’s 
done, under my hatches. The impudence of thy brow will 
not always save thy shin-bones from iron, and thy foul thirsty 30 
gullet from a hempen cord.” The words were no sooner out 
of his mouth when Lambourne again made at him. 

“Nay, go not to it again,” said the sewer, “or I will call 
for him shall tame you both, and that is Master Varney — 
Sir Richard, I mean; he is stirring, I promise you: I saw 35 
him cross the court just now.” 

“Didst thou?” said Lambourne, seizing on the basin 
and ewer which stood in the apartment. “Nay, then, 
element, do thy work. I thought I had enough of thee 
last night, when I floated about for Orion, like a cork on a 40 
fermenting cask of ale.” 

So saying, he fell to work to cleanse from his face and 
hands the signs of the fray, and get his apparel into some order. 








378 


KENILWORTH 


“ What hast thou done to him? ” said the sewer, speaking 
aside to the jailor; “his face is fearfully swelled.” 

“ It is but the imprint of the key of my cabinet, too good a 
mark for his gallows-face. No man shall abuse or insult my 
5 prisoners; they are my jewels, and I lock them in safe casket 
accordingly. "And so, mistress, leave off your wailing. 
Hey ! why, surely there was a woman here !” 

“ I think you are all mad this morning,” said the sewer. 

“ I saw no woman here, nor no man neither in a proper sense, 
io but only two beasts rolling on the floor.” 

“Nay, then, I am undone,” said the jailor; “the prison’s 
broken, that is all. Kenilworth prison is broken,” he con¬ 
tinued, in a tone of maudlin lamentation, “which was the 
strongest jail betwixt this and the Welsh marches 0 — ay, 
15 and a house that has had knights, and earls, and kings sleep¬ 
ing in it, as secure as if they had been in the Tower of London. 
It is broken, the prisoners fled, and the jailor in much danger 
of being hanged!” 

So saying, he retreated down to his own den to conclude 
20 his lamentations, or to sleep himself sober. Lambourne and 
the sewer followed him close, and it was well for them, since 
the jailor, out of mere habit, was about to lock the wicket 
after him; and had they not been within the reach of inter¬ 
fering they would have had the pleasure of being shut up in 
25 the turret-chamber, from which the countess had been just 
delivered. 

That unhappy lady, as soon as she found herself at liberty, 
fled, as we have already mentioned, into the Pleasance. She 
had seen this richly ornamented space of ground from the 
30 window of Mervyn’s Tower; and it occurred to her, at the 
moment of her escape, that, among its numerous arbours, 
bowers, fountains, statues, and grottoes, she. might find 
some recess, in which she could lie concealed until she had an 
opportunity of addressing herself to a protector, to whom she 
35 might communicate as much as she dared of her forlorn situ¬ 
ation, and through whose means she might supplicate an 
interview with her husband. 

“ If I could see my guide,” she thought, “ I would learn if he 
had delivered my letter. Even did I but see Tressiliaft, it 
40 were better to risk Dudley’s anger, by confiding my whole 
situation to one who is the very soul of honour, than to run 
the hazard of farther insult among the insolent menials of 
this ill-ruled place. I will not again venture into an inclosed 




KENILWORTH 


379 


apartment. I will wait— I will watch; amidst so many- 
human beings, there must be some kind heart which can 
judge and compassionate what mine endures.” 

In truth, more than one party entered and traversed the 
Pleasance. But they were in joyous groups of four or five 5 
persons together, laughing and jesting in their own fulness of 
mirth and lightness of heart. 

The retreat which she had chosen gave her the easy 
alternative of avoiding observation. It was but stepping 
back to the farthest recess of a grotto, ornamented with rustic 10 
work and moss-seats, and terminated by a fountain, and she 
might easily remain concealed, or at her pleasure discover 
herself to any solitary wanderer whose curiosity might lead 
him to that romantic retirement. Anticipating such an op¬ 
portunity, she looked into the clear basin which the silent 15 
fountain held up to her like a mirror, and felt shocked at her 
own appearance, and doubtful at the same time, muffled 
and disfigured as her disguise made her seem to herself, 
whether any female (and it was from the compassion of her 
own sex that she chiefly expected sympathy) would engage 20 
in conference with so suspicious an object. Reasoning thus 
like a woman, to whom external appearance is scarcely in 
any circumstances a matter of unimportance, and like a 
beauty, who had some confidence in the power of her own 
charms, she laid aside her travelling-cloak and capotaine hat, 25 
and placed them beside her, so that she could assume them 
in an instant, ere one could penetrate from the entrance of 
the grotto to its extremity, in case the intrusion of Varney 
or of Lambourne should render such disguise necessary. 
The dress which she wore under these vestments was some- 30 
what of a theatrical cast, so as to suit the assumed personage 
of one of the females who was to act in the pageant. Way- 
land had found the means of arranging it thus upon the 
second day of their journey, having experienced the service 
arising from the assumption of such a character on the 35 
preceding day. The fountain, acting both as a mirror and 
ewer, afforded Amy the means of a brief toilette, of which 
she availed herself as hastily as possible; then took in her 
hand her small casket of jewels, in case she might find them 
useful intercessors, and retiring to the darkest and most se- 40 
questered nook, sat down on a seat of moss, and awaited till 
fate should give her some chance of rescue or of propitiating 
an intercessor. 






CHAPTER XXXIV 


Have you not seen the partridge quake, 

Viewing the hawk approaching nigh ? 

She cuddles close beneath the brake, 

Afraid to sit, afraid to fly. 

Prior. 

It chanced, upon that memorable morning, that one of the 
earliest of the huntress train who appeared from her chamber 
in full array for the chase was the princess for whom all these 
pleasures were instituted, England’s Maiden Queen. I 
5 know not if it were by chance, or out of the befitting courtesy 
due to a mistresss by whom he was so much honoured, that 
she had scarcely made one step beyond the threshold of her 
chamber ere Leicester was by her side, and proposed to her, 
until the preparations for the chase had been completed, to 
io view the Pleasance and the gardens which it connected with 
the castleyard. 

To this new scene of pleasures they walked, the earl’s arm 
affording his sovereign the occasional support which she re¬ 
quired, where flights of steps, then a favourite ornament in 
15 a garden, conducted them from terrace to terrace and from 
parterre to parterre. The ladies in attendance, gifted with 
prudence, or endowed perhaps with the amiable desire of 
acting as they would be done by, did not conceive their duty 
to the Queen’s person required them, though they lost not 
20 sight of her, to approach so near as to share, or perhaps dis¬ 
turb, the conversation betwixt the Queen and the earl, who 
was not only her host, but also her most trusted, esteemed, 
and favoured servant. They contented themselves with ad¬ 
miring the grace of this illustrious couple, whose robes of 
25 state were now exchanged for hunting-suits, almost equally 
magnificent. 

Elizabeth’s silvan dress, which was of a pale blue silk, with 
silver lace and aiguillettes ,° approached in form to that of the 
ancient Amazons 0 ; and was, therefore, well suited at once to 
30 her height and to the dignity of her mien, which her con¬ 
scious rank and long habits of authority had rendered in 

380 






KENILWORTH 


381 


some degree too masculine to be seen to the best advantage 
in ordinary female weeds. Leicester’s hunting-suit of 
Lincoln green, richly embroidered with gold, and crossed by 
the gay baldric, which sustained a bugle-horn, and a wood- 
knife instead of a sword, became its master, as did his other 5 
vestments of court or of war. For such were the perfections 
of his form and mien, that Leicester was always supposed to 
be seen to the greatest advantage in the character and dress 
which for the time he represented or wore. 

The conversation of Elizabeth and the favourite earl has 10 
not reached us in detail. But those who watched at some 
distance (and the eyes of courtiers and court ladies are right 
sharp) were of opinion that on no occasion did the dignity 
of Elizabeth, in gesture and motion, seem so decidedly to 
soften away into a mien expressive of indecision and tender- 15 
ness. Her step was not only slow, but even unequal, a thing 
most unwonted in her carriage; her looks seemed bent on the 
ground, and there was a timid disposition to withdraw from 
her companion, which external gesture in females often indi¬ 
cates exactly the opposite tendency in the secret mind, the 20 
Duchess of Rutland, who ventured nearest, was even heard 
to aver that she discerned a tear in Elizabeth’s eye and a 
blush on her cheek; and still farther, “ She bent her looks on 
the ground to avoid mine,” said the duchess; she who, m 
her ordinary mood, could look down a lion.” To wffiat con- 25 
elusion these symptoms led is sufficiently evident; nor were 
they probably entirely groundless. The progress of a private 
conversation betwixt two persons of different sexes is often 
decisive of their fate, and gives it a turn very different per¬ 
haps from what they themselves anticipated. Gallantry be- 30 
comes mingled with conversation, and affection and passion 
come gradually to mix with gallantry. Nobles, as well as 
shepherd sw^ains, will, in such a trying moment, say more 
than they intended; and queens, like village maidens, will 

listen longer than they should. ... 35 

Horses in the mean wffiile neighed and champed the bits 
with impatience in the base-court; hounds yelled m their 
couples, and yeomen, rangers, and prickers lamented the 
exhaling of the dew, which would prevent the scent from 
lving But Leicester had another chase in view, or, to speak 40 
more justly towards him, had become engaged m it without 
premeditation, as the high-spirited hunter which follows the 
cry of the hounds that have crossed his path by accident. 




382 


KENILWORTH 


The Queen, an accomplished and handsome woman — the 
pride of England, the hope of France and Holland, and the 
dread of Spain, had probably listened with more than usual 
favour to that mixture of romantic gallantry with which she 
5 always loved to be addressed; and the earl had, in vanity, in 
ambition, or in both, thrown in more and more of that deli¬ 
cious ingredient, until his importunity became the language 
of love itself. 

“ No, Dudley,” said Elizabeth, yet it was with broken ac- 
to cents— “no, I must be the mother of my people. Other 
ties, that make the lowly maiden happy, are denied to her 
sovereign. No, Leicester, urge it no more. Were I as 
others, free to seek my own happiness, then, indeed— but 
it cannot — cannot be. Delay the chase — delay it for half 
15 an hour— and leave me, my lord.” 

“How, leave you, madam!” said Leicester. “Has my 
madness offended you?” 

“No, Leicester, not so!” answered the Queen, hastily; 
“but it is madness, and must not be repeated. Go, but go 
20 not far from hence; and meantime let no one intrude on my 
privacy.” 

While she spoke thus, Dudley bowed deeply, and retired 
with a slow and melancholy air. The Queen stood gazing 
after him, and murmured to herself: “Were it possible — 
25 were it but possible ! But no — no; Elizabeth must be the 
wife and mother of England alone.” 

As she spoke thus, and in order to avoid some one whose 
step she heard approaching, the Queen turned into the grotto 
in which her hapless, and yet but too successful, rival lay 
30 concealed. 

The mind of England’s Elizabeth, if somewhat shaken by 
the agitating interview to which she had just put a period, 
was of that firm and decided character which soon recovers 
its natural tone. It was like one of those ancient druidical 
35 monuments called rocking-stones. 0 The finger of Cupid, 
boy as he is painted, could put her feelings in motion, but the 
power of Hercules could not have destroyed their equi¬ 
librium. As she advanced with a slow pace towards the in¬ 
most extremity of the grotto, her countenance, ere she had 
40 proceeded half the length, had recovered its dignity of look 
and her mien its air of command. 

It was then the Queen became aware that a female figure 
was placed beside, or rather partly behind, an alabaster col- 



KENILWORTH 


383 


umn, at the foot of which arose the pellucid fountain, which 
occupied the inmost recess of the twilight grotto. The 
classical mind of Elizabeth suggested the story of Numa and 
Egeria, 0 and she doubted not that some Italian sculptor had 
here represented the naiad whose inspirations gave laws to 5 
Rome. As she advanced, she became doubtful whether she 
beheld a statue or a form of flesh and blood. The unfortu¬ 
nate Amy, indeed, remained motionless betwixt the desire 
wdiich she had to make her condition known to one of her 
own sex and her awe for the stately form which approached 10 
her, and which, though her eyes had never before beheld, her 
fears instantly suspected to be the personage she really was. 
Amy had arisen from her seat with the purpose of addressing 
-the lady who entered the grotto alone, and, as she at first 
thought, so opportunely. But when she recollected the 15 
alarm which Leicester had expressed at the Queen's knowing 
aught of their union, and became more and more satisfied 
that the person whom she now beheld was Elizabeth herself, 
she stood with one foot advanced and one withdrawn, her 
arms, head, and hands perfectly motionless, and her cheek as 20 
pallid as the alabaster pedestal against which she leaned. 
Her dress was of pale sea-green silk, little distinguished in 
that imperfect light, and somewhat resembled the drapery of 
a Grecian nymph, such an antique disguise having been 
thought the most secure, where so many masquers and revel- 25 
lers were assembled; so that the Queen’s doubt of her being a 
living form was well justified by all contingent circumstances, 
as well as by the bloodless cheek and the fixed eye. 

Elizabeth remained in doubt, even after she had ap¬ 
proached within a few paces, whether she did not gaze on a 30 
statue so cunningly fashioned that by the doubtful light 
it could not be distinguished from reality. She stopped, 
therefore, and fixed upon this interesting object her princely 
look with so much keenness that the astonishment which had 
kept Amy immovable gave way to awe, and she gradually 35 
cast down her eyes and drooped her head under the com¬ 
manding gaze of the sovereign. Still, however, she re¬ 
mained in all respects, saving this slow and profound 

inclination of the head, motionless and silent. _ 

From her dress, and the casket which she instinctively held 40 
in her hand, Elizabeth naturally conjectured that the beauti¬ 
ful but mute figure which she beheld was a performer in one 
of the various theatrical pageants which had been placed in 





384 


KENILWORTH 


different situations to surprise her with their homage, and 
that the poor player, overcome with awe at her presence, 
had either forgot the part assigned her or lacked courage to 
go through it. It was natural and courteous to give her 
5 some encouragement; and Elizabeth accordingly said, in a 
tone of condescending kindness: “ How now, fair nymph of 
this lovely grotto, art thou spell-bound and struck with 
dumbness by the charms of the wicked enchanter whom men 
term fear? We are his sworn enemy, maiden, and can re- 
io verse his charm. Speak, we command thee.” 

Instead of answering her by speech, the unfortunate count¬ 
ess dropped on her knee before the Queen, let her casket fall 
from her hand, and clasping her palms together, looked up in 
the.Queen’s face with such a mixed agony of fear and suppli- 
15 cation that Elizabeth was considerably affected. 

“What may this mean?” she said; “this is a stronger 
passion than befits the occasion. Stand up, damsel; what 
wouldst thou have with us ? ” 

“Your protection, madam,” faltered forth the unhappy 
20 petitioner. 

“ Each daughter of England has it while she is worthy of 
it,” replied the Queen; “but your distress seems to have a 
deeper root than a forgotten task. Why, and in what, do 
you crave our protection ? ” 

25 Amy hastily endeavoured to recall what she were best to 
say, which might secure herself from the imminent dangers 
that surrounded her, without endangering her husband; and 
plunging from one thought to another, amidst the chaos 
which filled her mind, she could at length, in answer to the 
30 Queen’s repeated inquiries in what she sought protection, 
only falter out: “Alas! I know not.” 

“This is folly, maiden,” said Elizabeth, impatiently; for 
there was something in the extreme confusion of the suppli¬ 
ant which irritated her curiosity, as well as interested her 
35 feelings. “ The sick man must tell his malady to the phy¬ 
sician, nor are we accustomed to ask questions so oft without 
receiving an answer.” 

“I request — I implore,” stammered forth the unfortu¬ 
nate countess— “I beseech your gracious protection—- 
40 against—against one Varney.” She choked wellnigh as 
she uttered the fatal word, which was instantly caught up by 
the Queen. 

“What Varney? Sir Richard Varney—the servant of 







KENILWORTH 


385 


Lord Leicester? What, damsel, are you to him, or he to 
you ? ” 

“I — I — was his prisoner — and he practised on my life 

— and I broke forth to— to-” 

“To throw thyself on my protection, doubtless,” said5 
Elizabeth. “Thou shalt have it—that is, if thou art 
worthy; for we will sift this matter to the uttermost. Thou 
art,” she said, bending on the countess an eye which seemed 
designed to pierce her very inmost soul— “Thou art Amy, 
daughter of Sir Hugh Robsart of Lidcote Hall?” 10 

“Forgive me— forgive me, most gracious princess !” said 
Amy, dropping once more on her knee, from which she had 
arisen. 

“ For what should I forgive thee, silly wench ? ” said Eliza¬ 
beth; “for being the daughter of thine own father? Thou 15 
art brain-sick, surely. Well, I see I must wring the story 
from thee by inches. Thou didst deceive thine old and 
honoured father— thy look confesses it; cheated Master 
Tressilian — thy blush avouches it; and married this same 
Varney?” 20 

Amy sprung on her feet, and interrupted the Queen 
eagerly, with: “No, madam—no; as there is a God above 
us, I am not the sordid wretch you would make me ! I am 
not the wife of that contemptible slave— of that most 
deliberate villain ! I am not the wife of Varney ! I would 25 
rather be the bride of destruction! ” 

The Queen, overwhelmed in her turn by Amy’s vehe¬ 
mence, stood silent for an instant, and then replied: “ Why, 
God ha’ mercy, woman ! I see thou canst talk fast enough 
when the theme likes thee. Nay, tell me, woman,” she 30 
continued, for to the impulse of curiosity was now added 
that of an undefined jealousy that some deception had been 
practised on her— “tell me, woman — for, by God’s day, 

I will know — whose wife, or whose paramour, art thou? 
Speak out, and be speedy. Thou wert better dally with a 35 
lioness than with Elizabeth.” 

Urged to this extremity, dragged as it were by irresistible 
force to the verge of the precipice, which she saw but could 
not avoid, permitted not a moment’s respite by the eager 
words and menacing gestures of the offended Queen, Amy 40 
at length uttered in despair: “ The Earl of Leicester knows 
it all.” 

“ The Earl of Leicester !” said Elizabeth, in utter astonish- 
2c 





-386 


KENILWORTH 


ment. “ The Earl of Leicester ! ” she repeated, with kindling 
anger. “ Woman, thou art set on to this— thou dost belie 
him: he takes no keep of such things as thou art. Thou art 
suborned to slander the noblest lord and the truest-hearted 
■5 gentleman in England ! But were he the right hand of our 
trust, or something yet dearer to us, thou shalt have thy 
hearing, and that in his presence. Come with me — come 
with me instantly ! ” 

As Amy shrunk back with terror, which the incensed 
so Queen interpreted as that of conscious guilt, Elizabeth 
rapidly advanced, seized on her arm, and hastened with 
swift and long steps out of the grotto, and along the prin¬ 
cipal alley of the Pleas^nce, dragging with her the terrified 
countess, whom she still held by the arm, and whose ut- 
15 most exertions could but just keep pace with those of the 
indignant Queen. 

Leicester was at this moment the centre of a splendid 
group of lords and ladies, assembled together under an 
arcade, or portico, which closed the alley. The company 
20 had drawn together in that place to attend the commands 
of her Majesty when the hunting-party should go forward, 
and their astonishment may be imagined when, instead of 
seeing Elizabeth advance towards them with her usual 
measured dignity of motion, they beheld her walking so 
25 rapidly that she was in the midst of them ere they were 
aware; and then observed, with fear and surprise, that her 
features were flushed betwixt anger and agitation, that her 
hair was loosened by her haste of motion, and that her eyes 
sparkled as they were wont when the spirit of Henry VIII 
30 mounted highest in his daughter. Nor were they less 
astonished at the appearance of the pale, extenuated, half¬ 
dead, yet still lovely, female whom the Queen upheld by 
main strength with one hand, while with the other she waved 
aside the ladies and nobles who pressed towards her, under 
35 the idea that she was taken suddenly ill, “ Where is my 
Lord of Leicester ?” she said, in a tone that thrilled with 
astonishment all the courtiers who stood around. “ Stand 
forth, my Lord of Leicester! ” 

If, in the midst of the most serene day of summer, when 
40 all is light and laughing around, a thunderbolt were to fall 
from the clear blue vault of heaven, and rend the earth at the 
very feet of some careless traveller, he could not gaze upon 
the smouldering chasm which so unexpectedly yawned 






KENILWORTH 


387 


before him with half the astonishment and fear which 
Leicester felt at the sight that so suddenly presented itself. 

He had that instant been receiving, with a political affec¬ 
tation of disavowing and misunderstanding their mean¬ 
ing, the half-uttered, half-intimated congratulations of the 5 
courtiers upon the favour of the Queen, carried apparently 
to its highest pitch during the interview of that morning; 
from which most of them seemed to augur that he might 
soon arise from their equal in rank to become their master. 
And now, while the subdued yet proud smile with which io- 
he disclaimed those inferences was yet curling his cheek, 
the Queen shot into the circle, her passions excited to the 
uttermost; and, supporting with one hand, and apparently 
without an effort, the pale and sinking form of his almost 
expiring wife, and pointing with the finger of the other 15; 
to her half-dead features, demanded in a voice that sounded 
to the ears of the astounded statesman like the last dread 
trumpet-call, that is to summon body and spirit to the 
judgment-seat, “ Knowest thou this woman ? ” 

As, at the blast of that last trumpet, the guilty shall call 20. 
upon the mountains to cover them, Leicester’s inward 
thoughts invoked the stately arch which he had built in his 
pride to burst its strong conjunction and overwhelm them 
in its ruins. But the cemented stones, architrave and battle¬ 
ment, stood fast; and it was the proud master himself who, 25. 
as if some actual pressure had bent him to the earth, 
kneeled down before Elizabeth, and prostrated his brow 
to the marble flagstones on which she stood. 

“Leicester,” said Elizabeth, in a voice which trembled 
with passion,.“could I think thou hast practised on me — 30. 
on me thy sovereign— on me thy confiding, thy too partial 
mistress, the base and ungrateful deception which thy 
present confusion surmises— by all that is holy, false lord, 
that head of thine were in as great peril as ever was thy 

father’s!” . , , , , , . , 3 $ 

Leicester had not conscious innocence, but he nad pride, 
to support him. He raised slowly his brow and features, 
which were black and swoln with contending emotions, and 
only replied: “My head cannot fall but by the sentence 
of my peers; to them I will plead, and not to a princess 40 
who thus requites my faithful service ! ” 

“What! my lords,” said Elizabeth, looking around, 
“we are defied, I think— defied in the castle we have our- 






388 


KENILWORTH 


selves bestowed on this proud man ! My Lord Shrewsbury, 
you are marshal of England, attach him of high treason ! ” 

“ Whom does your Grace mean !” said Shrewsbury, much 
surprised, for he had that instant joined the astonished 
5 circle. 

“ Whom should I mean but that traitor, Dudley Earl of 
Leicester ! Cousin of Hunsdon, order out your band of gen¬ 
tlemen pensioners, and take him into instant custody. I say 
villain, make haste ! ” 

io Hunsdon, a rough old noble, who, from his relationship to 
the Boleyns , 0 was accustomed to use more freedom with the 
Queen than almost any other dared to do, replied bluntly: 
“ ^ is like your Grace might order me to the Tower to¬ 

morrow for making too much haste. I do beseech you to be 
15 patient.” 

“ Patient! God’s life !” exclaimed the Queen, “name not 
the word to me; thou know’st not of what he is guilty!” 

Amy, who had by this time in some degree recovered her¬ 
self, and who saw her husband, as she conceived, in the 
20 utmost danger from the rage of an offended sovereign, 
instantly (and alas ! how many women have done the same) 
forgot her own wrongs and her own danger in her appre¬ 
hensions for him, and throwing herself before the Queen 
embraced her knees, while she exclaimed: “ He is, madam — 
25 he is guiltless: no one can lay ought to the charge of the 
noble Leicester! ” 

“Why, minion,” answered the Queen, “didst not thou 
thyself say that the Earl of Leicester was privy to thv 
whole history?” J 

30 Did I say so ? ” repeated the unhappy Amy laying aside 
every consideration of consistency and of self-interest* “Oh 
if I did, I foully belied him. May God so judge me, as I be- 
heve he was never privy to a thought that would harm me » ” 
Woman!” said Elizabeth, “I will know who has moved 
35 thee to this; or my wrath — and the wrath of kings is a flam¬ 
ing fire — shall wither and consume thee like a weed in the 
furnace.” 

Asthe Queen uttered this threat, Leicester’s better angel 
called his pride to his aid, and reproached him with the utter 
4 ° extremity of meanness which would overwhelm him for ever 
A he stooped to take shelter under the generous interposition 
ot his wife, and abandoned her, in return for her kindness to 
the resentment of the Queen. He had already raised his 




KENILWORTH 


389 


head, with the dignity of a man of honour, to avow his 
marriage, and proclaim himself the protector of his countess, 
when Varney, born, as it appeared, to be his master’s evil 
genius, rushed into the presence, with every mark of dis¬ 
order on his face and apparel. 5 

“What means this saucy intrusion?” said Elizabeth. 
Varney, with the air of a man altogether overwhelmed with 
t grief and confusion, prostrated himself before her feet, ex- 

! 1 claiming: “ Pardon, my liege — pardon ! or at least let your 
justice avenge itself on me, where it is due; but spare my io 
noble, my generous, my innocent patron and master!” 

Amy, who was yet kneeling, started up as she saw the man 
whom she deemed most odious place himself so near her, and 
I was about to fly towards Leicester, when, checked at once by 
I the uncertainty and even timidity which his looks had reas- 15 
sumed as soon as the appearance of his confidant seemed to 
open a new scene, she hung back, and, uttering a faint scream, 
besought of her Majesty to cause her to be imprisoned in the 
lowest dungeon of the castle — to deal with her as the worst 
of criminals — “ but spare,” she exclaimed, “ my sight and 20 
hearing what will destroy the little judgment I have left— 
the sight of that unutterable and most shameless villain!” 

“ And why, sweetheart? ” said the Queen, moved by a new 
impulse; “what hath he, this false knight, since such thou 
accountest him, done to thee ? ” 25 

“Oh, worse than sorrow, madam, and worse than injury: 
he has sown dissension where most there should be peace. 

I shall go mad if I look longer on him !” 

“ Beshrew me, but I think thou art distraught already, 
answered the Queen. “ My Lord Hunsdon, look to this poor 3° 
distressed young woman, and let her be safely bestowed and 
in honest keeping till we require her to be forthcoming.” 

Two or three of the ladies in attendance, either moved by 
compassion for a creature so interesting or by some other mo¬ 
tive, offered their service to look after her; but the Queen 35 
briefly answered: “ Ladies, under favour, no. You have all, 
give God thanks! sharp ears and nimble tongues; our 
kinsman Hunsdon has ears of the dullest, and a tongue some¬ 
what rough, but yet of the slowest. Hunsdon, look to it 
that none have speech of her.” . 4° 

“By Our Lady!” said Hunsdon, taking m his strong, 
.sinewy arms the fading and almost swooning form of Amy, 
“she is a lovely child; and though a rough nurse, your 






390 


KENILWORTH 


Grace hath given her a kind one. She is safe with me as 
one of my own ladybirds of daughters.” 

So saying, he carried her off, unresistingly and almost, 
unconsciously; his war-worn locks and long grey beard 
5 mingling with her light-brown tresses, as her head reclined on 
his strong square shoulder. The Queen followed him with 
her eye; she had already, with that self-command which 
forms so necessary a part of a sovereign’s accomplishments,, 
suppressed every appearance of agitation, and seemed as if 
io she desired to banish all traces of her burst of passion from 
the recollection of those who had witnessed it. “My lord 
of Hunsdon says well,” she observed; “he is indeed but a 
rough nurse for so tender a babe.” 

“My Lord of Hunsdon,” said the Dean of St. Asaph’s, 
15 “ I speak it not in defamation of his more noble qualities, hath 
a broad license in speech, and garnishes his discourse some¬ 
what too freely with the cruel and superstitious oaths, which 
savour both of profaneness and of old Papistrie.” 

“ It is the fault of his blood, Mr. Dean,” said the Queen, 
20 turning sharply round upon the reverend dignitary as she 
spoke; “ and you may blame mine for the same distempera- 
ture. The Boleyns were ever a hot and plain-spoken race, 
more hasty to speak their mind than careful to choose their 
expressions. And, by my word — I hope there is no sin in 
25 that affirmation ? — I question if it were much cooled by 
mixing with that of Tudor.” 

As she made this last observation, she smiled graciously, 
and stole her eyes almost insensibly round to seek those 
of the Earl of Leicester, to whom she now began to think 
30 she had spoken with hasty harshness upon the unfounded 
suspicion of a moment. 

The Queen’s eye found the earl in no mood to accept the 
implied offer of conciliation. His own looks had followed, 
with late and rueful repentance, the faded form which Huns- 
35 don had just borne from the presence; they now reposed 
gloomily on the ground, but more — so at least it seemed to 
Elizabeth — with the expression of one who has received an 
unjust affront than of him who is conscious of guilt. She 
turned her face angrily from him, and said to Varney: 
40 “ Speak, Sir Richard, and explain these riddles; thou hast 
sense and the use of speech, at least, which elsewhere we 
look for in vain.” 

As she said this, she darted another resentful glance 


KENIL WORTH 


391 


towards Leicester, while the wily Varney hastened to tell his 
own story. 

“ Your Majesty’s piercing eye,” he said, “has already de¬ 
tected the cruel malady of my beloved lady; which, un¬ 
happy that I am, I would not suffer to be expressed in the 5 
certificate of her physician, seeking to conceal what has now 
broken out with so much the more scandal. 

“She is then distraught?” said the Queen; “indeed, we 
doubted not of it; her whole demeanour bears it out. I 
found her moping in a corner of yonder grotto; and every ro 
word she spoke — which indeed I dragged from her as by the 
rack — she instantly recalled and forswore. But how came 
she hither? Why had you her not in safe-keeping?” 

“My gracious liege,” said Varney, “the worthy gentleman 
under whose charge I left her, Master Anthony Foster, has 15 
come hither but now, as fast as man and horse can travel, to 
show me of her escape, which she managed with the art 
peculiar to many who are afflicted with this malady. He is 
at hand for examination.” 

e “'Let it be for another time,” said the Queen. “ But, 20 
Sir Richard, we envy you not your domestic felicity: your 
lady railed on you bitterly, and seemed ready to swoon at 
beholding you.” 

“ It is the nature of persons in her disorder, so please your 
Grace,” answered Varney, “to be ever most inveterate in 25 
their spleen against those whom, in their better moments, 
they hold nearest and dearest.” 

“We have heard so, indeed,” said Elizabeth, “and give 
faith to the saying.” 

“May your Grace then be pleased,” said Varney, “to com- 30 
mand my unfortunate wife to be delivered into the custody 
of her friends?” 

Leicester partly started; but, making a strong effort, he 
subdued his emotion, while Elizabeth answered sharply: 

“ You are something too hasty, Master Varney; we will have 35 
first a report of the lady’s health and state of mind from 
Masters, our own physician, and then determine what shall 
be thought just. You shall have license, however, to see 
her, that, if there be any matrimonial quarrel betwixt you 
— such things we have heard do occur, even betwixt a 40 
loving couple—you may make it up, without further 
scandal to our court or trouble to ourselves.” 

Varney bowed low, and made no other answer. 




392 


KENILWORTH 


Elizabeth again looked towards Leicester, and said, with a 
degree of condescension which could only arise out of the 
most heartfelt interest: “Discord, as the Italian poet says, 
will find her way into peaceful convents, as well as into the 
S privacy of families; and we fear our own guards and ushers 
will hardly exclude her from courts. My Lord of Leicester, 
you are offended with us, and we have right to be offended 
with you. We will take the lion’s part upon us, and be the 
first to forgive.” 

io Leicester smoothed his brow, as by an effort, but the 
trouble was too deep-seated that its placidity should at once 
return. He said, however, that which fitted the occasion: 
“That he could not have the happiness of forgiving, because 
she who commanded him to do so could commit no injury 
15 towards him.” 

Elizabeth seemed content with this reply, and intimated 
her pleasure that the sports of the morning should proceed. 
The bugles sounded— the hounds bayed— the horses 
pranced; but the courtiers and ladies sought the amuse- 
20 ment to which they were summoned with hearts very dif¬ 
ferent from those which had leaped to the morning’s reveille. 
There was doubt, and fear, and expectation on every brow, 
and surmise and intrigue in every whisper. 

Blount took an opportunity to whisper into Raleigh’s ear: 
25 “This storm came like a levanter 0 in the Mediterranean.” 

“ Varium et mutabile , 0 ” answered Raleigh, in a similar tone. 

“Nay, I know nought of your Latin,” said Blount; “but I 
thank God Tressilian took not the sea during that hurricano. 
He could scarce have missed shipwreck, knowing as he does 
30 so little how to trim his sails to a court gale.” 

“Thou wouldst have instructed him?” said Raleigh. 

“Why, I have profited by my time as well as thou, Sir 
Walter,” replied honest Blount. “I am knight as well as 
thou, and of the earlier creation.” 

35 “ Now, God further thy wit,” said Raleigh; “ but for Tres¬ 

silian, I would I knew what were the matter with him. He 
told me this morning he would not leave his chamber for the 
space of twelve hours or thereby, being bound by a promise. 
This lady’s madness, when he shall learn it, will not, I fear, 
40 cure his infirmity. The moon is at the fullest, and men’s 
brains are working like yeast. But hark! they sound to 
mount. Let us to horse, Blount: we young knights must 
deserve our spurs.” 





CHAPTER XXXV 


Sincerity, 

Thou first of virtues, let no mortal leave 

The onward path, although the earth should gape, 

And from the gulf of hell destruction cry, 

To take dissimulation’s winding way. 

Douglas. 

It was not till a long and successful morning’s sport, and a 
prolonged repast which followed the return of the Queen to 
the castle, that Leicester at length found himself alone with 
Varney, from whom he now learned the whole particulars of 
the countess’s escape, as they had been brought to Kenil-5 
worth by Foster, who, in his terror for the consequences, had 
himself posted thither with the tidings. As Varney, in his 
narrative, took especial care to be silent concerning those 
practices on the countess’s health which had driven her to so 
desperate a resolution, Leicester, who could only suppose that 10 
she had adopted it out of jealous impatience to attain the 
avowed state and appearance belonging to her rank, was not 
a little offended at the levity with which his wife had 
broken his strict commands, and exposed him to the resent¬ 
ment of Elizabeth. *5 

“I have given,” he said, “to this daughter of an obscure 
Devonshire gentleman the proudest name in England. I 
have made her sharer of my bed and of my fortunes. I ask 
but of her a little patience, ere she launches forth upon the 
I full current of her grandeur, and the infatuated woman will 20 
1 rather hazard her own shipwreck and mine, will rather 
involve me in a thousand whirlpools, shoals, and quicksands, 
and compel me to a thousand devices which shame me in mine 
own eyes, than tarry for a little space longer in the obscurity 
to which she was born. So lovely, so delicate, so fond, so 25 
faithful, yet to lack in so grave a matter the prudence which 
one might hope from the veriest fool— it puts me beyond 
my patience.” 

“ We may post it over yet well enough,” said Varney, 11 

393 






394 


KENILWORTH 


my lady will be but ruled, and take on her the character 
which the time commands.” 

“It is but too true, Sir Richard,” said Leicester, “there is; j 
indeed no other remedy. I have heard her termed thy wife ; 

5 in my presence, without contradiction. She must bear the ! 
title until she is far from Kenilworth.” 

“And long afterwards, I trust,” said Varney; then in- i 
stantly added: “ For I cannot but hope it will be long after : 
ere she bear the title of Lady Leicester: I fear me it may 
io scarce be with safety during the life of this Queen. But your 
lordship is best judge, you alone knowing what passages, 
have taken place betwixt Elizabeth and you.” 

“You are right, Varney,” said Leicester; “I have this, 
morning been both fool and villain; and when Elizabeth 
15 hears of my unhappy marriage, she cannot but think herself 
treated with that premeditated slight which women never 
forgive. We have once this day stood upon terms little short 
of defiance; and to those, I fear, we must again return.” 

“Is her resentment, then, so implacable?” said Varney. 

20 “ Far from it,” replied the earl; “ for, being What she is in 1 

spirit and in station, she has even this day been but too con¬ 
descending, in giving me opportunities to repair what she ; 
thinks my faulty heat of temper.” 

“Ay,” answered Varney; “the Italians say right; in j 
25 lovers’ quarrels the party that loves most is always most | 
willing to acknowledge the greater fault. So then, my lord, j 
if this union with the lady could be concealed, you stand 
with Elizabeth as you did?” 

Leicester sighed, and was silent for a moment, ere he re- j 
30 plied. 

“ Varney, I think thou art true to me, and I will tell thee 
all. I do not stand where I did. I have spoken to Elizabeth 
’— under what mad impulse I know not — on a theme which ; 
cannot be abandoned without touching every female feeling | 
35 to the quick, and which yet I dare not and cannot prosecute. 
She can never, never forgive me for having caused and wit¬ 
nessed those yieldings to human passion.” 

“We must do something, my lord,” said Varney, “and 
that speedily.” 

40 “There is nought to be done,” answered Leicester, de- 
spondingly; “I am like one that has long toiled up a dan¬ 
gerous precipice, and when he is within one perilous stride of 
the top, finds his progress arrested when retreat has become 




KENILWORTH 


395 


impossible. I see above me the pinnacle which I cannot 
reach, beneath me the abyss into which I must fall, as soon as 
my relaxing grasp and dizzy brain join to hurl me from my 
present precarious stance.” 

“Think better of your situation, my lord,” said Varney; 5 
“let us try the experiment in which you have but now ac¬ 
quiesced. Keep we your marriage from Elizabeth’s know¬ 
ledge, and all may yet be well. I will instantly go to the 
lady myself. She hates me, because I have been earnest 
with your lordship, as she truly suspects, in opposition to 10 
what she terms her rights. I care not for her prejudices. 
She shall listen to me; and I will show her such reasons for 
yielding to the pressure of the times, that I doubt not to 
bring back her consent to whatever measures these exigen¬ 
cies may require.” 15 

“No, Varney,” said Leicester; “I have thought upon 
what is to be done, and I will myself speak with Amy.” 

It was now Varney’s turn to feel, upon his own account, 
the terrors which he affected to participate solely on account 
•of his patron. “Your lordship will not yourself speak with 20 
the lady?” 

“ It is my fixed purpose,” said Leicester; “ fetch me one of 
the livery cloaks; I will pass the sentinel as thy servant. 
Thou art to have free access to her.” 

“But, my lord-” 25 

“ I will have no ‘ buts,’ ” replied Leicester; “ it shall be 
•even thus, and not otherwise. Hunsdon sleeps, I think, in 
Saintlowe’s Tower. We can go thither from these apart¬ 
ments by the private passage, without risk of meeting any 
one. Or what if I do meet Hunsdon? he is more my friend 30 
-than enemy, and thick-witted enough to adopt any belief 
that is thrust on him. Fetch me the cloak instantly.” 

Varney had no alternative save obedience. In a few 
minutes Leicester was muffled in the mantle, pulled his 
bonnet over his brows, and followed Varney along the secret 35 
passage of the castle which communicated with Hunsdon’s 
apartments, in which there was scarce a chance of meeting 
any inquisitive person, and hardly light enough for any such 
to have satisfied their curiosity. They emerged at a door 
where Lord Hunsdon had, with military precaution, placed 40 
a sentinel, one of his own northern retainers, as it fortuned, 
who readily admitted Sir Richard Varney and his attendant, 
saying only, in his northern dialect: “ I would, man, thou 






396 


KENILWORTH 


couldst make the mad lady be still yonder; for her moans 
do sae dirl 0 through my head that I would rather keep watch 
on a snowdrift in the wastes of Catlowdie. 0 ” 

They hastily entered, and shut the door behind them. 

5 “Now, good devil, if there be one,” said Varney, within 
himself, “for once help a votary at a dead pinch, for my boat 
is amongst the breakers ! ” 

The Countess Amy, with her hair and her garments di¬ 
shevelled, was seated upon a sort of couch, in an attitude of 
io the deepest affliction, out of which she was startled by the 
opening of the door. She turned hastily round, and, fixing 
her eye on Varney, exclaimed: “Wretch ! art thou come to 
frame some new plan of villainy?” 

^Leicester cut short her reproaches by stepping forward and 
15 dropping his cloak, while he said, in a voice rather of author¬ 
ity than of affection: “ It is with me, madam, you have to 
commune, not with Sir Richard Varney.” 

The change effected on the countess’ s look and manner was 
like magic. “ Dudley ! ” she exclaimed — “ Dudley ! and art 
20 thou come at last ? ” And with the speed of lightning she 
flew to her husband, clung around his neck, and, unheeding 
the presence of Varney, overwhelmed him with caresses, 
while she bathed his face in a flood of tears; muttering, at the 
same time, but in broken and disjointed monosyllables, the 
25 fondest expressions which love teaches his votaries. 

Leicester, as it seemed to him, had reason to be angry with 
his lady for transgressing his commands, and thus placing 
him in the perilous situation in which he had that morning 
stood. But what displeasure could keep its ground before 
30 these testimonies of affection from a being so lovely that even 
the negligence of dress, and the withering effects of fear, 
grief, and fatigue, which would have impaired the beauty of 
others, rendered hers but the more interesting! He re¬ 
ceived and repaid her caresses with fondness, mingled with 
35 melancholy, the last of which she seemed scarcely to observe, 
until the first transport of her own joy was over; when, 
looking anxiously in his face, she asked if he was ill. 

“ Not in my body, Amy,” was his answer. 

“Then I will be well too. Oh, Dudley! I have been 
40 ill! — very ill, since we last met! — for I call not this morn¬ 
ing’s horrible vision a meeting. I have been in sickness, in 
grief, and in danger. But thou art come, and all is joy, 
and health, and safety!” 


KENILWORTH 


397 


“Alas ! Amy,” said Leicester, “thou hast undone me!” 

“ I, my lord !” said Amy, her cheek at once losing its tran¬ 
sient flush of joy; “how could I injure that which I love 
better than myself ?” ; , ... 

“ I would not upbraid you, Amy,” replied the earl; but 5 
are you not here contrary to my express commands; and 
does not your presence here endanger both yourself and 
me ? ” 

“Does it—does it indeed?” she exclaimed, eagerly; 
“then why am I here a moment longer? Oh, if you knew io 
by what fears I was urged to quit Cumnor Place ! But I will 
say nothing of myself, only that, if it might be otherwise, I 
would not willingly return thither; yet if it concern your 
safety - ^ 

“We will think, Amy, of some other retreat,” said Leices- 15 
ter • “ and you shall go to one of my northern castles, under 
the personage— it will be but needful, I trust, for a very 
few days—of Varney’s wife.” , , 

« How, my Lord of Leicester !” said the lady, disengaging 
herself from his embraces; “is it to your wife you give the 20 
dishonourable counsel to acknowledge herself the bride of 
another— and of all men, the bride of that Varney? 

“Madam, I speak it in earnest. Varney is my true and 
faithful servant, trusted in my deepest secrets. I had better 
lose my right hand than his service at this moment. You 25 
have no cause to scorn him as you do.” a 

“ I could assign one, my lord,” replied the countess; and 
I see he shakes even under that assured look of his. But he 
that is necessary as your right hand to your safety is free 
from any accusation of mine. May he be true to you, and 30 
that he may be true, trust him not too much or too far. But 
it is enough to say, that I will not go with him unless by 
violence, nor would I acknowledge him as my husband were 

__ yy 

«It is a temporary deception, madam,” said Leicester, 35 
irritated by her opposition, “ necessary for both our safeties, 
endangered by you through female caprice, or the premature 
desire to seize on a rank to which I gave you title only under 
condition that our marriage, for a time, should continue 
secret If my proposal disgust you, it is yourself has 40 
brought it on both of us There is no other remedy: you 
must do what your own impatient folly hath rendered nec¬ 
essary— I command you.” 







398 


KENILWORTH 


“ I cannot put your commands, my lord,” said Amy, “ in 
balance with those of honour and conscience. I will not, in 
this instance, obey you. You may achieve your own dis¬ 
honour, to which these crooked policies naturally tend; but 
5 I will do nought that can blemish mine. How could you 
again, my lord, acknowledge me as a pure and chaste matron, 
worthy to share your fortunes, when, holding that high char¬ 
acter, I had strolled the country the acknowledged wife of 
such a profligate fellow as your servant Varney?” 
io “My lord,” said Varney, interposing, “my lady is too 
much prejudiced against me, unhappily, to listen to what I 
can offer; yet it may please her better than what she pro¬ 
poses. She has good interest with Master Edmund Tres- 
silian, and could doubtless prevail on him to consent to be 
15 her companion to Lidcote Hall, and there she might remain 
in safety until time permitted the development of this 
mystery.” 

Leicester was silent, but stood looking eagerly on Amy, 
with eyes which seemed suddenly to glow as much with sus- 
20 picion as displeasure. 

The countess only said: “ Would to God I were in my fa¬ 
ther’s house ! When I left it, I little thought I was leaving 
peace of mind and honour behind me.” 

Varney proceeded with a tone of deliberation. “Doubt- 
25 less this will make it necessary to take strangers into my 
lord’s counsels; but surely the countess will be warrant for 
the honour of Master Tressilian and such of her father’s 
family-” 

“Peace, Varney!” said Leicester; “by Heaven, I will 
30 strike my dagger into thee, if again thou namest Tressilian 
as a partner of my counsels! ” 

“And wherefore not?” said the countess; “unless they 
be counsels fitter for such as Varney than for a man of stain¬ 
less honour and integrity. My lord— my lord, bend no 
35 angry brows on me; it is the truth, and it is I who speak it. 
I once did Tressilian wrong for your sake; I will not do him 
the further injustice of being silent when his honour is brought 
in question. I can forbear,” she said, looking at Varney, 
“ to pull the mask off hypocrisy, but I will not permit virtue 
40 to be slandered in my hearing.’ ’ 

There was a dead pause. Leicester stood displeased, yet 
undetermined, and too conscious of the weakness of his 
cause; while Varney, with a deep and hypocritical affecta- 





KENILWORTH 


399 


j tion of sorrow, mingled with humility, bent his eyes on the 
j ground. 

It was then that the Countess Amy displayed, in the 
| midst of distress and difficulty, the natural energy of char- 
j acter which would have rendered her, had fate allowed, as 
1 ; distinguished ornament of the rank which she held. She 
j walked up to Leicester with a composed step, a dignified air, 

1 and looks in which stronger affection essayed in vain to shake 
| the firmness of conscious truth and rectitude of principle. 

’ “ You have spoke your mind, my lord,” she said, “ in these dif- io 
I Acuities, with which, unhappily, I have found myself unable 
I to comply. This gentleman— this person, I would say— has 
I hinted at another scheme, to which I object not but as it dis- 
\ pleases you. Will your lordship be pleased to hear what a 
I young and timid woman, but your most affectionate wife, 15 
ft can suggest in the present extremity?” 

Leicester was silent, but bent his head towards the count- 
B ess, as an intimation that she was at liberty to proceed. 

I “ There hath been but one cause for all these evils, my 
|] lord,” she proceeded, “ and it resolves itself into the mys- 20 
I terious duplicity with which you have been induced to sur- 
| round yourself. Extricate yourself at once, my lord, from 
j the tyranny of these disgraceful trammels. Be like a true 
y English gentleman, knight, and earl, who holds that truth 
J is the foundation of honour, and that honour is dear to him 25 
J as the breath of his nostrils. Take your ill-fated wife by the 
3 hand; lead her to the footstool of Elizabeth’s throne; say 
f that, ‘In a moment of infatuation, moved by supposed 
beauty, of which none perhaps can now trace even the re¬ 
mains, I gave my hand to this Amy Robsart.’ You will then 30 
have done justice to me, my lord, and to your own honour; 
and should law or power require you to part from me, I will 
oppose no objection, since I may then with honour hide a 
grieved and broken heart in those shades' from which your 
love withdrew me. Then — have but a little patience, and 35 
Amy’s life will not long darken your brighter prospects.” 

J There was so much of dignity, so much of tenderness, in 
I the countess’s remonstrance that it moved all that was noble 
f and generous in the soul of her husband. The scales seemed 
to fall from his eyes, and the duplicity and tergiversation of 40 
which he had been guilty stung him at once with remorse 
, and shame. 

“ I am not worthy of you, Amy, ’ he said, “ that could 






400 


KENILWORTH 


weieh aught which ambition has to give against such a heart 
Is tWnef I have a bitter penance to perform m disen¬ 
tangling before sneering foes and astounded friends, all the 
meshes^of my own deceitful policy And the Queen- but 
- let her take mv head, as she has threatened. 

5 “ Your head, my lord !” said the countess; # because you 

used the freedom and liberty of an, English subject in choos¬ 
ing a wife? For shame; it is this distrust of the Q^ eei } f 
iustice this apprehension of danger, which cannot but be 
I0 imaginary, that, like scarecrows, have induced y° u ^ fo [" 
sake the straightforward path, which, as it is the best, is 

alS “ Ah, 6 Amy, 1 thou little knowest!” said Dudley; but, in¬ 
stantly checking himself, he added: “ Yet she shall not find 
TC in me Y a safe or easy victim of arbitrary vengeance. I have 
5 friends— I have allies— I will not, like Norfolk, be dragged 
to the block as a victim to sacrifice. Fear not, Amy, thou 
shalt see Dudley bear himself worthy of his name. I must 
instantly communicate with some of those friends on whom 
20 I can best rely; for, as things stand, I may be made prisoner 

m “oh°Zy C good lord,” said Amy, “make no faction in a 
neaceful state ! There is no friend can help us so well as our 
own candid truth and honour. Bring but these to our as- 
_ - sistance and vou are safe amidst a whole army of the en- 
5 vfous and malignant. Leave these behind you, and all 
other defence will be ^fruitless. Truth, my noble lord, is 

WG “ But^isdom, Amy,” answered Leicester, As arrayed m 
3 o panoply of proof. Argue not with me on themeansl shall 
use to render my confession — since it must be called so 
as safe as may be; it will be fraught with enough of danger, 
do what we will. Varney, we must hence. Farewell Amy 
whom I am to vindicate as mine own at an expense and risk 
35 of which thou alone couldst be worthy! You shall soon 

h0 He f embraced her fervently, muffled himseK as before, and 
accompanied Varney from the apartment. The latter, as he 
left the room, bowed low, and, as he raised his body, 
warded Amy with a peculiar expression, as if he desired to 
know how far his own pardon was included in the reconcili¬ 
ation which had taken place betwixt her and her lord. The 
countess looked upon him with a fixed eye, but seemed no 




KENILWORTH 


401 


more conscious of his presence than if there had been noth¬ 
ing but vacant air on the spot where he stood. 

“ She has brought me to the crisis/’ he muttered. “ She 
or I are lost. There was something— I wot not if it was 
fear or pity— that prompted me to avoid this fatal crisis. 5 
It is now decided. She or I must perish .” 

While he thus spoke, he observed, with surprise, that a 
boy, repulsed by the sentinel, made up to Leicester and 
spoke with him. Varney was one of those politicians whom 
not the slightest appearances escape without inquiry. He 10 
asked the sentinel what the lad wanted with him, and re¬ 
ceived for answer, that the boy had wished him to transmit 
a parcel to the mad lady, but that he cared not to take charge 
of. it, such communication being beyond his commission. 
His curiosity satisfied in that particular, he approached his 15 
patron and heard him say: “Well, boy, the packet shall be 
delivered.” 

“Thanks, good Master Serving-man,” said the boy, and 
was out of sight in an instant. 

Leicester and Varney returned with hasty steps to the 20 
earl’s private apartment by the same passage which had 
conducted them to Saintlowe’s Tower. 






CHAPTER XXXVI 


I have said 

This is an adulteress, I have said with whom 
More, she’s a traitor, and Camillo is 
A federary with her, and one that knows 

What she should shame to know herself 

Winter’s Tale. 

They were no sooner in the earl’s cabinet than, taking his 
tablets from his pocket, he began to write, speaking partly to 
Varney and partly to himself: “ There are many of them close 
bounden to me, and especially those m good estate and high 
e office • many who, if they look back towards my benefits, or 
forward towards the perils which may befall themselves, will 
not I think, be disposed to see me stagger unsupported. Let 
me’see— Knollis is sure, and through his means Guernsey 
and Jersey. Horsey commands m the Isle of Wight. My 
io brother-in-law, Huntingdon, and Pembroke have authority 
in Wales. Through Bedford I lead the Puritans, with their 
interest, so powerful in all the boroughs. My brother of 
Warwick is equal, wellnigh, to myself m wealth, followers, 
and dependencies. Sir Owen Hopton is at my devotion, 
i< he commands the Tower of London, and the national trea¬ 
sure deposited there. My father and grandfather needed 
never to have stooped their heads to the block had they thus 
forecast their enterprises. Why look you so sad, Varney. 

I tell thee, a tree so deep-rooted is not easily to be torn up by 

2 °thetempeb m lord „ gaid Varney, with well-acted passion, 
and then resumed the same look of despondency which 
Leicester had before noted. 

“Alas’” repeated Leicester, “and wherefore alas, bir 
2 < Richard ? Doth your new spirit of chivalry supply no more 
vigorous ejaculation when a noble struggle is impending? 
Or if ‘alas’ means thou wilt flinch from the conflict, thou 
mayst leave the castle, or go join mine enemies, whichever 
thou thinkest best.” 

30 “ Not so, my lord,” answered his confidant; Varney will 

402 


KENILWORTH 


403 


be found fighting or dying by your side. Forgive me, if, in 
love to you, I see more fully than your noble heart permits 
you to do the inextricable difficulties with which you are sur¬ 
rounded. You are strong, my lord, and powerful; yet, let 
me say it without offence, you are so only by the reflected 5 
light of the Queen’s favour. While you are Elizabeth’s 
favourite you are all, save in name, like an actual sovereign. 
But let her call back the honours she has bestowed, and the 
prophet’s gourd did not wither more suddenly. Declare 
against the Queen, and I do not say that in the wide io 
nation, or in this province alone, you would find yourself 
instantly deserted and outnumbered; but I will say, that 
even in this very castle, and in the midst of your vassals, 
kinsmen, and dependants, you would be a captive, nay, a 
sentenced captive, should she please to say the word. Think 15 
upon Norfolk, my lord—upon the powerful Northumber¬ 
land— the splendid Westmoreland— think on all who have 
made head against this sage princess. They are dead, 
captive, or fugitive. This is not like other thrones, which 
can be overturned by a combination of powerful nobles: 20 
the broad foundations which support it are in the extended 
love and affections of the people. You might share it with 
Elizabeth if you would; but neither yours nor any other 
power, foreign or domestic, will avail to overthrow or even 
to shake it.” 2 5 

He paused, and Leicester threw his tablets from him with 
> an air of reckless despite. “It may be as thou say’st,” he 
said; “and, in sooth, I care not whether truth or cowardice 
dictate thy forebodings. But it shall not be said I fell with¬ 
out a struggle. Give orders that those of my retainers who 3° 
served under me in Ireland be gradually drawn into the main 
keep , 0 and let our gentlemen and friends stand on their guard, 
and go armed, as if they expected an onset from the fol¬ 
lowers of Sussex. Possess the townspeople with some appre¬ 
hension ; let them take arms and be ready, at a signal given, 35 
to overpower the pensioners and yeomen of the guard.” 

“Let me remind you, my lord,” said Varney, with the 
same appearance of deep and melancholy interest, “ that you 
have given me orders to prepare for disarming the Queen’s 
guard. It is an act of high treason, but you shall neverthe- 40 
less be obeyed.” 

“I care not,” said Leicester, desperately— “I care not. 
Shame is behind me, ruin before me; I must on.” 







404 


KENILWORTH 


Here there was another pause, which Varney at length 
broke with the following words: “ It is come to the point I 
have long dreaded. I must either witness, like an ungrateful 
beast, the downfall of the best and kindest of masters, or I 
S must speak what I would have buried in the deepest oblivion, 
or told by any other mouth than mine.” 

“ What is that thou sayst, or wouldst say ? ” replied the 
earl; “we have no time to waste on words, when the time 
calls us to action.” 

io “ My speech is soon made, my lord — would to God it were 

as soon answered ! Your marriage is the sole cause of the 
threatened breach with your sovereign, my lord, is it not? ” 

“ Thou knowest it is ! ” replied Leicester. “ What needs so 
fruitless a question?” 

15 “Pardon me, my lord,” said Varney; “the use lies here. 

Men will wager their lands and lives in defence of a rich 
diamond, my lord; but were it not first prudent to look if 
there is no flaw in it?” 

“What means this?” said Leicester, with eyes sternly 
20 fixed on his dependant; “of whom dost thou dare to 
speak?” 

“ It is — of the Countess Amy, my lord, of whom I am un¬ 
happily bound to speak; and of whom I will speak, were 
your lordship to kill me for my zeal.” 

25 “ Thou mayst happen to deserve it at my hand,” said the 

earl; “but speak on, I will hear thee.” 

“ Nay, th # en, my lord, I will be bold. I speak for my own 
life as well as for your lordship’s. I like not this lady’s 
tampering and trickstering with this same Edmund Tres- 
30 silian. You know him, my lord. You know he had formerly 
an interest in her, which it cost your lordship some pains to 
supersede. You know the eagerness with which he has 
pressed on the suit against me in behalf of this lady, the open 
object of which is to drive your lordship to an avowal of what 
.35 I must ever call your most unhappy marriage, the point to 
which my lady also is willing, at any risk, to urge you.” 

Leicester smiled constrainedly. “Thou meanest well, 
good Sir Richard, and wouldst, I think, sacrifice thine own 
honour, as well as that of any other person, to save me from 
40 what thou think’st a step so terrible. But, remember” — 
he spoke these words with the most stern decision— “you 
speak of the Countess of Leicester.” 

“ I do, my lord,” said Varney; “ but it is for the welfare of 



KENILWORTH 


405 


the Earl of Leicester. My tale is but begun. I do most 
strongly believe that this Tressilian has, from the begin¬ 
ning of his moving in her cause, been in connivance with her 
ladyship the countess.’’ 

“Thou speak’st wild madness, Varney, with the sober face 5 
of a preacher. Where or how could they communicate to¬ 
gether ? ” 

“My lord,” said Varney, “unfortunately I can show that 
but too well. It was just before the supplication was pre¬ 
sented to the Queen, in Tressilian’s name, that I met him, to 10 
my utter astonishment, at the postern gate which leads from 
the demesne at Cumnor Place.” 

“Thou met’st him, villain! and why didst thou not 
strike him dead ? ” exclaimed Leicester. 

“ I drew on him, my lord, and he on me; and had not my 15 
foot slipped, he would not, perhaps, have been again a 
stumbling-block in your lordship’s path.” 

Leicester seemed struck dumb with surprise. At length 
he answered: “What other evidence hast thou of this, 
Varney, save thine own assertion? for, as I will punish 20 
deeply, I will examine coolly and warily. Sacred Heaven! 
but no — I will examine coldly and warily — coldly and 
warily.” He repeated these words more than once to him¬ 
self, as if in the very sound there was a sedative quality; 
and again compressing his lips, as if he feared some violent 25 
expression might escape from them, he asked again: “ What 
farther proof?” 

“Enough, my lord,” said Varney, “and to spare. I 
would it rested with me alone, for with me it might have 
been silenced for ever. But my servant, Michael Lambourne, 30 
witnessed the whole, and was, indeed, the means of first 
introducing Tressilian into Cumnor Place; and therefore I 
took him into my service, and retained him in it, though 
something of a debauched fellow, that I might have his 
tongue always under my own command.” He then ac-35 
quainted Lord Leicester how easy it was to prove the cir¬ 
cumstance of their interview true, by evidence of Anthony 
Foster, with the corroborative testimonies of the various 
persons at Cumnor, who had heard the wager laid, and had 
seen Lambourne and Tressilian set off together. In the 40 
whole narrative, Varney hazarded nothing fabulous, ex¬ 
cepting that, not indeed by direct assertion, but by in¬ 
ference, he led his patron to suppose that the interview 



406 


KENILWORTH 


betwixt Amy and Tressilian at Cumnor Place had been 
longer than the few minutes to which it was in reality 
limited. 

“ And wherefore was I not told of all this ? ” said Leicester, 

5 sternly. “ Why did all of ye — and in particular thou, Var¬ 
ney— keep back from me such material information?” 

“Because, my lord,” replied Varney, “the countess pre¬ 
tended to Foster and to me that Tressilian had intruded 
himself upon her; and I concluded their interview had been 
io in all honour, and that she would at her own time tell it to 
your lordship. Your lordship knows with what unwilling 
ears we listen to evil surmises against those whom we love; 
and I thank Heaven I am no make-bate or informer, to be 
the first to sow them.” 

15 “You are but too ready to receive them, however, Sir 
Richard,” replied his patron. “How know’st thou that 
this interview was not in all honour, as thou hast said? 
Methinks the wife of the Earl of Leicester might speak for a 
short time with such a person as Tressilian without injury 
20 to me or suspicion to herself.” 

“Questionless, my lord,” answered Varney; “had I 
thought otherwise, I had been no keeper of the secret. But 
here lies the rub: Tressilian leaves not the place without 
establishing a correspondence with a poor man, the landlord 
25 of an inn in Cumnor, for the purpose of carrying off the lady. 
He sent down an emissary of his, whom I trust soon to have 
in right sure keeping under Mervyn’s Tower. Killigrevwnd 
Lambsbey are scouring the country in quest of him. The 
host is rewarded with a ring for keeping counsel; your lord- 
30 ship may have noted it on Tressilian’s hand— here it is. 
This fellow, this agent makes his way to the Place as a 
pedlar, holds conferences with the lady, and they make their 
escape together by night; rob a poor fellow of a horse by the 
way, such was their guilty haste; and at length reach this 
35 castle, where the Countess of Leicester finds refuge — I dare 
not say in what place.” 

“Speak, I command thee,” said Leicester—“speak, 
while I retain sense enough to hear thee.” 

“Since it must be so,” answered Varney, “the lady 
40 resorted immediately to the apartment of Tressilian, where 
she remained many hours, partly in company with him and 
partly alone. I told you Tressilian had a paramour in his 
chamber; I little dreamed that paramour was-” 



KENILWORTH 


407 


“ Amy, thou wouldst say,” answered Leicester; “but it is 
false — false as the smoke of hell! Ambitious she may be — 
fickle and impatient— ’tis a woman’s fault; but false to me l 
never, never. The proof— the proof of this ! ” he exclaimed, 
hastily. $ 

“Carrol, the deputy-marshal, ushered her thither by her 
own desire on yesterday afternoon; Lambourne and the 
warder both found her there at an early hour this morning.” 

“Was Tressilian there with her?” said Leicester in the 
same hurried tone. io 

“ No, my lord. You may remember,” answered Varney, 
“that he was that night placed with Sir Nicholas Blount, 
under a species of arrest.” 

“Did Carrol, or the other fellows, know who she was?” 
demanded Leicester. 15 

“No, my lord,” replied Varney. “Carrol and the warder 
had never seen the countess, and Lambourne knew her not in 
her disguise; but, in seeking to prevent her leaving the cell, 
he obtained possession of one of her gloves, which, I think, 
your lordship may know.” 20 

He gave the glove, which had the bear and ragged staff, 
the earl’s impress, embroidered upon it in seed-pearls. 

“I do— I do recognise it,” said Leicester. “They were 
my own gift. The fellow of it was on the arm which she 
threw this very day around my neck.” He spoke this with 25 
violent agitation. 

“Your lordship,” said Varney, “might yet further inquire 
of the lady herself respecting the truth of these passages.” 

“It needs not— it needs not,” said the tortured earl: “it 
is written in characters of burning light, as if they were 30 
branded on my very eyeballs ! I see her infamy, — I can 
see nought else; and — gracious Heaven ! — for this vile 
woman was I about to commit to danger the lives of so 
many noble friends — shake the foundation of a lawful 
throne — carry the sword and torch through the bosom 35 
of a peaceful land — wrong the kind mistress who made me 
what I am, and would, but for that hell-framed marriage, 
have made me all that man can be ! All this I was ready to 
do for a woman who trinkets and traffics with my worst foes ! 
And thou, villain, why didst thou not speak sooner ? ” 40 

“ My lord,” said Varney, “a tear from my lady would have 
blotted out all I could have said. Besides, I had not these 
proofs until this very morning, when Anthony Foster’s 





408 


KENILWORTH 


sudden arrival, with the examinations and declarations 
which he had extorted from the innkeeper Gosling and 
others, explained the manner of her flight from Cumnor 
Place, and my own researches discovered the steps which 

5 she had taken here.” . 

“ Now, may God be praised for the light He has given ! so 
full, so satisfactory, that there breathes not a man in Eng¬ 
land who shall call my proceeding rash or my revenge 
unjust. And yet, Varney, so youhg, so fair, so fawning, and 
io so false ! Hence, then, her hatred to thee, my trusty, my 
well-beloved servant, because you withstood her plots and 
endangered her paramour’s life!” 

“ I never gave her any other cause of dislike, my lord, 
replied Varney; “but she knew that my counsels went 
15 directly to diminish her influence with your lordship, and 
that I was, and have been, ever ready to peril my life 
against your enemies.” . ...... 

“It is too, too apparent,” replied Leicester; yet, witn 
what an air of magnanimity she exhorted me to commit my 
20 head to the Queen’s mercy rather than wear the veil of 
falsehood a moment longer! Methinks the angel of truth 
himself can have no such tones of high-souled impulse. Can 
it be so, Varney? Can falsehood use thus boldly the lan¬ 
guage of truth ? Can infamy thus assume the guise of purity ? 
25 Varney, thou hast been my servant from a child; I have 
raised thee high— can raise thee higher. Think— think 
for me! Thy brain was ever shrewd and piercing. May 
she not be innocent? Prove her so, and all I have yet done 
for thee shall be as nothing— nothing— in comparison of 
30 thy recompense ! ” 

The agony with which his master spoke had some effect 
even on the hardened Varney, who, in the midst of his own 
wicked and ambitious designs, really loved his patron as well 
as such a wretch was capable of loving anything; but he com- 
35 forted himself, and subdued his self-reproaches, with the re¬ 
flection that, if he inflicted upon the earl some immediate 
and transitory pain, it was in order to pave his way to the 
throne, which, were this marriage dissolved by death or 
otherwise, he deemed Elizabeth would willingly share with 
40 his benefactor. He therefore persevered in his diabolical 
policy; and, after a moment’s consideration, answered the 
anxious queries of the earl with a melancholy look, as if he 
had in vain sought some exculpation for the countess; then 



KENILWORTH 


409 


suddenly raising his head, he said, with an expression of hope, 
i which instantly communicated itself to the countenance of his 
patron: “Yet wherefore, if guilty, should she have perilled 
herself by coming hither ? Why not rather have fled to her 
father’s or elsewhere?—though that, indeed, might haves 
interfered with her desire to be acknowledged as Countess of 
I Leicester.” 

“True— true— true !” exclaimed Leicester, his transient 
gleam of hope giving way to the utmost bitterness of feeling 
and expression; “ thou art not fit to fathom a woman’s io 
depth of wit, Yarney. I see it all. She would not quit the 
estate and title of the wittol who had wedded her. Ay, and 
if in my madness I had started into rebellion, or if the angry 
Queen had taken my head, as she this morning threatened, 

I the wealthy dower which law would have assigned to the 15 
Countess Dowager of Leicester had been no bad windfall to 
the beggarly Tressilian. Well might she goad me on to 
danger, which could not end otherwise than profitable to her. 
Speak not for her, Varney; I will have her blood!” 

“My lord,” replied Varney, “the wildness of your distress 20 
breaks forth in the wildness of your language.” 

“ I say, speak not for her,” replied Leicester ; “ she has dis¬ 
honoured me— she would have murdered me; all ties are 
I burst between us. She shall die the death of a traitress and 
adulteress, well merited both by the laws of God and man! 25 
And— what is this casket,” he said, “which was even now 
thrust into my hand by a boy, with the desire I would convey 
it to Tressilian, as he could not give it to the countess? 
By Heaven! the words surprised me as he spoke them, 
though other matters chased them from my brain; but 30 
now they return with double force. It is her casket of 
jewels ! Force it open, Varney — force the hinges open with 
thy poniard.” 

“ She refused the aid of my dagger once,” thought Varney, 
as he unsheathed the weapon, “to cut the string which35 
bound a letter, but now it shall work a mightier ministry m 
her fortunes.” 

With this reflection, by using the three-cornered stiletto- 
blade as a wedge, he forced open the slender silver hinges of 
the casket. The Earl no sooner saw them give way than he 4 ° 
snatched the casket from Sir Richard’s hand, wrenched off 
the cover, and tearing out the splendid contents, flung 
them on the floor in a transport of rage, while he eagerly 






410 


KENIL WORTH 


searched for some letter or billet which should make the 
fancied guilt of his innocent countess yet more apparent. 
Then stamping furiously on the gems, he exclaimed: “ Thus 
I annihilate the miserable toys for which thou hast sold 
5 thyself, body and soul, consigned thyself to an early and 
timeless death, and me to misery and remorse for ever. 
Tell me not of forgiveness, Varney. She is doomed ! ” 

So saying, he left the room, and rushed into an adjacent 
closet, the door of which he locked and bolted, 
io Varney looked after him, while something of a more human 

feeling seemed to contend with his habitual sneer. “I am 
sorry for his weakness/’ he said, “ but love has made him a 
child. He throws down and treads on these costly toys; 
with the same vehemence would he dash to pieces this 
15 frailest toy of all, of which he used to rave so fondly. But 
that taste also will be forgotten when its object is no more. 
Well, he has no eye to value things as they deserve, and that 
nature has given to Varney. When Leicester shall be a 
sovereign, he will think as little of the gales of passion through 
20 which he gained that royal port as ever did sailor in harbour 
of the perils of a voyage. But these tell-tale articles must 
not remain here: they are rather too rich vails for the 
drudges who dress the chamber.” 

While Varney was employed in gathering together and 
25 putting them into a secret drawer of a cabinet that chanced 
to be unlocked, he saw the door of Leicester’s closet open, 
the tapestry pushed aside, and the earl’s face thrust out, but 
with eyes so dead, and lips and cheeks so bloodless and pale, 
that he started at the sudden change. No sooner did his 
30 eyes encounter the earl’s than the latter withdrew his head 
and shut the door of the closet. This manoeuvre Leicester 
repeated twice, without speaking a word, so that Varney 
began to doubt whether his brain was not actually affected 
by his mental agony. The third time, however, he beckoned, 
35 and Varney obeyed the signal. When he entered, he soon 
found his patron’s perturbation was not caused by insanity ; 
but by the fellness of purpose which he entertained contending 
with various contrary passions. They passed a full hour in 
close consultation; after which the Earl of Leicester, with an 
40 incredible exertion, dressed himself and went to attend his 
royal guest. 






CHAPTER XXXVII 


You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting 
With most admired disorder. 

Macbeth. 

It was afterwards remembered that, during the banquets 
and revels which occupied the remainder of this eventful day, 
the bearing of Leicester and of Varney were totally different 
from their usual demeanour. Sir Richard Varney had been 
held rather a man of counsel and of action than a votary of 5 
pleasure. Business, whether civil or military, seemed al¬ 
ways to be his proper sphere; and while in festivals and 
revels, although he well understood how to trick them up and 
present them, his own part was that of a mere spectator; or, 
if he exercised his wit, it was in a rough, caustic, and severe io 
manner, rather as if he scoffed at the exhibition and the 
guests than shared the common pleasure. 

But upon the present day his character seemed changed. 
He mixed among the younger courtiers and ladies, and ap¬ 
peared for the moment to be actuated by a spirit of light- 15 
hearted gaiety which rendered him a match for the liveliest. 
Those who had looked upon him as a man given up to graver 
and more ambitious pursuits, a bitter sneerer and passer of 
sarcasms at the expense of those who, taking life as they 
find it, were disposed to snatch at each pastime it presents, 20 
now perceived with astonishment that his wit could carry as 
smooth an edge as their own, his laugh be as lively, and his 
brow as unclouded. By what art of damnable hypocrisy he 
could draw this veil of gaiety over the black thoughts of one 
of the worst of human bosoms must remain unintelligible to 25 
all but his compeers, if any such ever existed; but he was a 
man of extraordinary powers, and those powers were un¬ 
happily dedicated in all their energy to the very worst of 
purposes. 

It was entirely different with Leicester. However habit- 30 
uated his mind usually was to play the part of a good cour¬ 
tier, and appear gay, assiduous, and free from all care but 

411 






412 


KENILWORTH 


that of enhancing the pleasure of the moment, while his 
bosom internally throbbed with the pangs of unsatisfied 
ambition, jealousy, or resentment, his heart had now a yet 
more dreadful guest, whose workings could not be overshad- 
5 owed or suppressed; and you might read in his vacant eye 
and troubled brow that his thoughts were far absent from 
the scenes in which he was compelling himself to play a part. 
He looked, moved, and spoke as if by a succession of con¬ 
tinued efforts; and it seemed as if his will had in some degree 
io lost the promptitude of command over the acute mind and 
goodly form of which it was the regent. His actions and 
gestures, instead of appearing the consequence of simple 
volition, seemed, like those of an automaton, to wait the 
revolution of some internal machinery ere they could be 
15 performed; and his words fell from him piecemeal, inter¬ 
rupted, as if he had first to think what he was to say, then 
how it was to be said, and as if, after all, it was only by an 
effort of continued attention that he completed a sentence 
without forgetting both the one and the other. 

20 The singular effects which these distractions of mind pro¬ 
duced upon the behaviour and conversation of the most ac¬ 
complished courtier of England, as they were visible to the 
lowest and dullest menial who approached his person, could 
not escape the notice of the most intelligent princess of the 
25 age. Nor is there the least doubt that the alternate neg¬ 
ligence and irregularity of his manner would have called 
down Elizabeth’s severe displeasure on the Earl of Leicester, 
had it not occurred to her to account for it by supposing 
that the apprehension of that displeasure which she had 
30 expressed towards him with such vivacity that very morn¬ 
ing was dwelling upon the spirits of her favourite, and, spite 
of his efforts to the contrary, distracted the usual graceful 
tenor of his mien and the charms of his conversation. When 
this idea, so flattering to female vanity, had once obtained 
35 possession of her mind, it proved a full and satisfactory 
apology for the numerous errors and mistakes of the 
Earl of Leicester; and the watchful circle around observed 
with astonishment that, instead of resenting his repeated 
negligence and want of even ordinary attention, although 
40 these were points on which she was usually extremely 
punctilious, the Queen sought, on the contrary, to afford him 
time and means to recollect himself, and deigned to assist 
him in doing so, with an indulgence which seemed alto- 


KENILWORTH 


413 


gether inconsistent with her usual character. It was clear, 
however, that this could not last much longer, and that 
Elizabeth must finally put another and more severe con¬ 
struction on Leicester’s uncourteous conduct, when the earl 
was summoned by Varney to speak with him in a different 5 
apartment. 

After having had the message twice delivered to him, he 
rose, and was about to withdraw, as it were, by instinct; 
then stopped, and, turning round, entreated permission of 
the Queen to absent himself for a brief space upon matters of 10 
pressing importance. 

“Go, my lord,” said the Queen; “we are aware our pres¬ 
ence must occasion sudden and unexpected occurrences, 
which require to be provided for on the instant. Yet, my 
lord, as you would have us believe ourself your welcome and 15 
honoured guest, we entreat you to think less of our good 
cheer, and favour us with more of your good countenance 
than we have this day enjoyed; for, whether prince or 
peasant be the guest, the welcome of the host will always be 
the better part of the entertainment. Go, my lord; and we 20 
trust to see you return with an unwrinkled brow and those 
free thoughts which you are wont to have at the disposal 
of your friends.” 

Leicester only bowed low in answer to this rebuke, and re¬ 
tired. At the door of the apartment he was met by Varney, 25 
who eagerly drew him apart, and whispered in his ear: “All 
is well! ” 

“Has Masters seen her?” said the earl. 

“ He has, my lord; and as she would neither answer his 
queries nor allege any reason for her refusal, he will give full 30 
testimony that shq labours under a mental disorder, and may 
be best committed to the charge of her friends. The oppor¬ 
tunity is therefore free to remove her as we proposed.” 

“But Tressilian?” said Leicester. 

“ He will not know of her departure for some time,” 35 
replied Varney; “it shall take place this very evening, and 
to-morrow he shall be cared for.” 

“No, by my soul,” answered Leicester; “ I will take ven¬ 
geance on him with mine own hand! ” 

“You, my lord, and on so inconsiderable a man as Tres-40 
silian ! No, my lord, he hath long wished to visit foreign 
parts. Trust him to me: I will take care he returns not 
hither to tell tales.” 


414 


KENILWORTH 


“ Not so, by Heaven, Varney ! ” exclaimed Leicester. “ In¬ 
considerable do you call an enemy that hath had power to 
wound me so deeply that my whole after-life must be one 
scene of remorse and misery? No; rather than forego the 
5 right of doing myself justice with my own hand on that ac¬ 
cursed villain, I will unfold the whole truth at Elizabeth’s 
footstool, and let her vengeance descend at once on them 
and on myself/’ 

Varney saw with great alarm that his lord was wrought up 
io to such a pitch of agitation that, if he gave not way to him, 
he was perfectly capable of adopting the desperate resolution 
which he had announced, and which was instant ruin to all 
the schemes of ambition which Varney had formed for his 
patron and for himself. But the earl’s rage seemed at once 
15 uncontrollable and deeply concentrated; and while he spoke 
his eyes shot like fire, his voice trembled with excess of pas¬ 
sion, and the light foam stood on his lip. 

His confidant made a bold and successful effort to obtain 
the mastery of him even in this hour of emotion. “My 
20 lord,” he said, leading him to a mirror, “behold your reflec¬ 
tion in that glass, and think if these agitated features belong 
to one who, in a condition so extreme, is capable of forming 
a resolution for himself.” 

“What, then, wouldst thou make me?” said Leicester, 
25 struck at the change in his own physiognomy, though of¬ 
fended at the freedom with which Varney made the appeal. 
“ Am I to be thy ward, thy vassal — the property and sub¬ 
ject of my servant?” 

“No, my lord,” said Varney, firmly, “but be master of 
30 yourself and of your own passion. My lord, I, your born 
servant, am shamed to see how poorly yoh bear yourself in 
the storm of fury. Go to Elizabeth’s feet, confess your mar¬ 
riage, impeach your wife and her paramour of adultery, and 
avow yourself, amongst all your peers, the wittol who mar- 
35 ried a country girl, and was cozened by her and her book- 
learned gallant. Go, my lord; but first take farewell of 
Richard Varney, with all the benefits you ever conferred on 
him. He served the noble, the lofty, the high-minded 
Leicester, and was more proud of depending on him than 
40 he would be of commanding thousands. But the abject 
lord who stoops to every adverse circumstance, whose 
judicious resolves are scattered like chaff before every wind 
of passion, him Richard Varney serves not. He is as much 


KENILWORTH 


415 


above him in constancy of mind as beneath him in rank 
and fortune/’ 

Varney spoke thus without hypocrisy, for, though the 
firmness of mind which he boasted was hardness and im¬ 
penetrability, yet he really felt the ascendency which he 5 
vaunted; while the interest which he actually felt in the 
fortunes of Leicester gave unusual emotion to his voice and 
manner. 

Leicester was overpowered by his assumed superiority; it 
seemed to the unfortunate earl as if his fast friend was about 10 
to abandon him. He stretched his hand towards Varney as 
he uttered the words: “Do not leave me. What wouldst 
thou have me do?” 

“ Be thyself, my noble master,” said Varney, touching the 
earl’s hand with his lips, after having respectfully grasped it 15 
in his own— “be yourself, superior to those storms of 
passion which wreck inferior minds. Are you the first who 
has been cozened in love ? The first whom a vain and licen¬ 
tious woman has cheated into an affection which she has 
afterwards scorned and misused ? And will you suffer your- 20 
self to be driven frantic, because you have not been wiser 
than the wisest men whom the world has seen ? Let her be 
as if she had not been — let her pass from your memory as 
unworthy of ever having held a place there. Let your 
strong resolve of this morning, which I have both courage, 25 
zeal, and means enough to execute, be like the fiat of a 
superior being, a passionless act of justice. She hath de¬ 
served death— let her die !” 

While he was speaking, the earl held his hand fast, com¬ 
pressed his lips hard, and frowned, as if he laboured to catch 30 
from Varney a portion of the cold, ruthless, and dispassionate 
firmness which he recommended. When he was silent, the 
earl still continued to grasp his hand, until, with an effort at 
calm decision, he was able to articulate: “ Be it so — she 
dies ! But one tear might be permitted.” 35 

“Not one, my lord,” interrupted Varney, who saw by the 
quivering eye and convulsed cheek of his patron that he was 
about to give way to a burst of emotion, “not a tear— the 
time permits it not. Tressilian must be thought of-” 

“That indeed is a name,” said the earl, “to convert tears40 
into blood. Varney, I have thought on this, and I have de¬ 
termined — neither entreaty nor argument shall move me — 
Tressilian shall be my own victim.” 







416 


KENILWORTH 


“ It is madness, my lord; but you are too mighty for me to 
bar your way to your revenge. Yet resolve at least to choose 
fitting time and opportunity, and to forbear him until those 

shall be found.” T • + 

5 “ Thou shalt order me in what thou wilt, said .Leicester, 

“only thwart me not in this.” 

“Then, my lord,” said Varney, “I first request of you to 
lay aside the wild, suspected, and half-frenzied demeanour 
which hath this day drawn the eyes of all the court upon you; 
io and which, but for the Queen’s partial indulgence, which she 
hath extended towards you in a degree far beyond her na¬ 
ture, she had never given you the opportunity to atone for. 

“ Have I indeed been so negligent? ” said Leicester, as one 
who awakes from a dream. “ I thought I had coloured it 
ic well; but fear nothing, my mind is now eased— I am calm. 
My horoscope shall be fulfilled; and that it may be fulfilled, 
I will tax to the highest every faculty of my mind. Fear me 
not, I say. I will to the Queen instantly; not thine own 
looks and language shall be more impenetrable than mine. 
20 Hast thou aught else to say ? ” 

“I must crave your signet-ring,” said Varney, gravely, 
“in token to those of your servants whom I must employ 
that I possess your full authority in commanding their aid.” 

Leicester drew off the signet-ring which he commonly 
25 used and gave it to Varney with a haggard and stern ex¬ 
pression of countenance, adding only, in a low, half-whis¬ 
pered tone, but with terrific emphasis, the words: “What 
thou dost, do quickly.” 

Some anxiety and wonder took place, meanwhile, in the 
30 presence-hall at the prolonged absence of the noble lord of 
the castle, and great was the delight of his friends when they 
saw him enter as a man from whose bosom, to all human seem¬ 
ing, a weight of care had been just removed. Amply did 
Leicester that day redeem the pledge he had given to Varney, 
35 who soon saw himself no longer under the necessity of main¬ 
taining a character so different from his own as that which he 
had assumed in the earlier part of the day, and gradually 
relapsed into the same grave, shrewd, caustic observer of 
conversation and incident which constituted his usual part 
40 in society. 

With Elizabeth, Leicester played his game as one to whom 
her natural strength of talent, and her weakness in one or 
two particular points were well known. He was too wary 



KENILWORTH 


417 


to exchange on a sudden the sullen personage which he had 
played before he retired with Varney; but, on approaching 
her, it seemed softened into a melancholy, which had a touch 
of tenderness in it, and which, in the course of conversing 
with Elizabeth, and as she dropped in compassion one mark 5 
of favour after another to console him, passed into a flow of 
affectionate gallantry the most assiduous, the most delicate, 
the most insinuating, yet at the same time the most respect¬ 
ful, with which a queen was ever addressed by a subject. 
Elizabeth listened as in a sort of enchantment; her jealousy 10 
of power was lulled asleep; her resolution to forsake all 
social or domestic ties, and dedicate herself exclusively to the 
care of her people, began to be shaken, and once more the 
star of Dudley culminated in the court horizon. 

But Leicester did not enjoy this triumph over nature and 15 
over conscience without its being embittered to him, not only 
by the internal rebellion of his feelings against the violence 
which he exercised over them, but by many accidental cir¬ 
cumstances, which, in the course of the banquet, and during 
the subsequent amusements of the evening, jarred upon that 20 
nerve the least vibration of which was agony. 

The courtiers were, for example, in the great hall, after 
having left the banqueting-room, awaiting the appearance of 
a splendid masque, which was the expected entertainment of 
this evening, when the Queen interrupted a wild career of wit 25 
which the Earl of Leicester was running against Lord Wil¬ 
loughby, Raleigh, and some other courtiers, by saying: “We 
will impeach you of high treason, my lord, if you proceed in 
this attempt to slay us with laughter. And here comes a 
thing may make us all grave at his pleasure, our learned phy- 30 
sician Masters, with news belike of our poor suppliant, Lady 
Varney; nay, my lord, we will not have you leave us, for this 
being a dispute betwixt married persons, we do not hold our 
own experience deep enough to decide thereon, without good 
counsel. How now, Masters, what think’st thou of the run- 35 
away bride?” 

The smile with which Leicester had been speaking when 
the Queen interrupted hin^ remained arrested on his lips, as 
if it had been carved there by the chisel of Michael Angelo 0 
or of Chantrey; and he listened to the speech of the phy-40 
sician with the same immovable cast of countenance. 

“The Lady Varney, gracious sovereign,” said the court 
physician Masters, “is sullen, and would hold little confer- 

2 E 



418 


KENILWORTH 


ence with me touching the state of her health, talking wildly 
of being soon to plead her own cause before your own pres¬ 
ence, and of answering no meaner person’s inquiries. 

“ Now, the Heavens forefend! ” said the Queen; “ we have 
5 already suffered from the misconstructions and broils which 
seem to follow this poor brain-sick lady wherever she comes. 
Think you not so, my lord ? ” she added, appealing to Leices¬ 
ter with something in her look that indicated regret, even 
tenderly expressed, for their disagreement of that morning, 
io Leicester compelled himself to bow low. The utmost force 
he could exert was inadequate to the farther effort of ex¬ 
pressing in words his acquiescence in the Queen’s sentiment. 

“You are vindictive,” she said, “my lord; but we will 
find time and place to punish you. But once more to this 
is same trouble-mirth — this Lady Varney. What of her 
health, Masters?” 

« She is sullen, madam, as I already said,” replied Masters, 

“ and refuses to answer interrogatories or be amenable to the 
authority of the mediciner. I conceive her to be possessed 
20 with a delirium, which I incline to term rather hypochondria 
than phrenesis 0 ; and I think she were best cared for by her 
husband in his own house, and removed from all this bustle 
of pageants, which disturbs her weak brain with the most fan¬ 
tastic phantoms. She drops hints as if she were some great 
25 person in disguise — some countess or princess perchance. 
God help them, such are often the hallucinations of these in¬ 
firm persons!” 

“Nay, then,” said the Queen, “away with her with all 
speed. Let Varney care for her with fitting humanity; but 
30let them rid the castle of her forthwith. She will think her¬ 
self lady of all, I warrant you. It is pity so fair a form, 
however, should have an infirm understanding. What think 
you, my lord?” 

“ It is pity indeed,” said the earl, repeating the words like 
35 a task which was set him. 

“But perhaps,” said Elizabeth, “you do not join with us 
in our opinion of her beauty; and indeed we have known 
men prefer a statelier and more Juno-like form 0 to that droop- 1 
ing, fragile one, that hung its htad like a broken lily. Ay, i 
40 men are tyrants, my lord, who esteem the animation of ; 
the strife above the triumph of an unresisting conquest, and, j 
like sturdy champions, love best those women who can wage \ 
contest with them. I could think with you, Rutland, that, | 


KENIL WORTH 


419 


give my Lord of Leicester such a piece of painted wax for a 
bride, he would have wished her dead ere the end of the 
| honeymoon.” 

As she said this, she looked on Leicester so expressively 
' that, while his heart revolted against the egregious false- 5 
hood, he did himself so much violence as to reply in a whisper 
j that Leicester’s love was more lowly than her Majesty deemed, 
since it was settled where he could never command, but 
ii must ever obey. 

The Queen blushed, and bid him be silent; yet looked as if 10 
she expected that he would not obey her commands. But at 
that moment the flourish of trumpets and kettle-drums from 
| a high balcony which overlooked the hall announced the en- 
j trance of the masquers, and relieved Leicester from the hor- 
:| rible state of constraint and dissimulation in which the re- 15 
\ suit of his own duplicity had placed him. 

The masque which entered consisted of four separate 
' bands, which followed each other at brief intervals, each 
consisting of six principal persons and as many torch- 
bearers, and each representing one of the various nations by 20 
i which England had at different times been occupied. 

The aboriginal Britons, who first entered, were ushered in 
by two ancient Druids, whose hoary hair was crowned with 
a chaplet of oak, and who bore in their hands branches of 
mistletoe. The masquers who followed these venerable 25 
figures were succeeded by two bards, arrayed in white, and 
bearing harps, which they occasionally touched, singing at 
the same time certain stanzas of an ancient hymn to Belus,° 

1 or the Sun. The aboriginal Britons had been selected from 
' amongst the tallest and most robust young gentlemen in 30 
' attendance on the court. Their masks were accommodated 
i with long shaggy beards and hair; their vestments were of 
: the hides of wolves and bears; while their legs, arms, and 
the upper parts of their bodies, being sheathed in flesh- 
! coloured silk, on which were traced in grotesque lines repre- 35 
sentations of the heavenly bodies, and of animals and other 
> terrestrial objects, gave them the lively appearance of our 
1 painted ancestors, whose freedom was first trenched upon by 
’ the Romans. 

! The sons of Rome, who came to civilise as well as to con- 4° 
quer, were next produced before the princely assembly; and 
1 the manager of the revels had correctly imitated the high 
! crest and military habits of that celebrated people, accom- 





420 KENILWORTH 

modating them with the light yet strong buckler, and the 
short two-edged sword, the use of which had made them 
victors of the world. The Roman eagles were borne before 
them by two standard-bearers, who recited a hymn to Mars, 

5 and the classical warriors followed with the grave and 
haughty step of men who aspired at universal conquest. 

The third quadrille represented the Saxons, clad in the 
bearskins which they had brought with them from the Ger¬ 
man forests, and bearing in their hands the redoubtable 
io battle-axes which made such havoc among the natives of 
Britain. They were preceded by two scalds, 0 who chanted 
the praises of Odin. 

Last came the knightly Normans, in their mail-shirts and 
hoods of steel, with all the panoply of chivalry, and mar- 
15 shaded by two minstrels, who sung of war and ladies’ love. 

These four bands entered the spacious hall with the ut¬ 
most order, a short pause being made that the spectators 
might satisfy their curiosity as to each quadrille before the 
appearance of the next. They then marched completely 
20 round the hall, in order the more fully to display themselves, 
regulating their steps to organs, shalms, hautboys, and vir¬ 
ginals, the music of the Lord Leicester’s household. At 
length the four quadrilles of masquers, ranging their torch- 
bearers behind them, drew up in their several ranks on the two 
25 opposite sides of the hall, so that the Romans confronting 
the Britons, and the Saxons the Normans, seemed to look on 
each other with eyes of wonder, which presently appeared 
to kindle into anger, expressed by menacing gestures. At 
the burst of a strain of martial music from the gallery, the 
30 masquers drew their swords on all sides, and advanced 
against each other in the measured steps of a sort of Pyrrhic 0 
or military dance, clashing their swords against their ad¬ 
versaries’ shields, and clattering them against their blades 
as they passed each other in the progress of the dance. 
35 It was a very pleasant spectacle to see how the various bands, 
preserving regularity amid motions which seemed to be 
totally irregular, mixed together, and then disengaging 
themselves resumed each their own original rank as the 
music varied. 

4° In this symbolical dance were represented the conflicts 
which had taken place among the various nations which had 
anciently inhabited Britain. 

At length, after many mazy evolutions, which* afforded 





KENILWORTH 


421 


! great pleasure to the spectators, the sound of a loud-voiced 
trumpet was heard, as if it blew for instant battle or for 
victory won. The masquers instantly ceased their mimic 
! strife, and collecting themselves under their original leaders, 
or presenters, for such was the appropriate phrase, seemed to 5 
share the anxious expectation which the spectators expe¬ 
rienced concerning what was next to appear. 

The doors of the hall were thrown wide, and no less a 
person entered than the fiend-born Merlin, 0 dressed in a 
strange and mystical attire, suited to his ambiguous birth 10 
and magical power. About him and behind him fluttered or 
| gambolled many extraordinary forms, intended to represent 
| the spirits who waited to do his powerful bidding; and so 
much did this part of the pageant interest the menials and 
U1 Others of the lower class then in the castle, that many of 15 
I them forgot even the reverence due to the Queen's presence 
| so far as to thrust themselves into the lower part of the 
hall. 

The Earl of Leicester, seeing his officers had some diffi- 
( culty to repel these intruders, without more disturbance than 20 
1 was fitting where the Queen was in presence, arose and went 

! l| himself to the bottom of the hall; Elizabeth, at the same 
j time, with her usual feeling for the common people, request- 
: ing that they might be permitted to remain undisturbed to 
witne^fc the pageant. Leicester went under this pretext; 25 
j but his real motive was to gain a moment to himself, and to 
relieve his mind, were it but for one instant, from the dread¬ 
ful task of hiding, under the guise of gaiety and gallantry, the 
lacerating pangs of shame, anger, remorse, and thirst for 
vengeance. He imposed silence by his look and sign upon 30 
the vulgar crowd at the lower end of the apartment; but, 
instead of instantly returning to wait on her Majesty, he 
wrapped his cloak around him, and mixing with the crowd, 
stood in some degree an undistinguished spectator of the 
progress of the masque. 35 

Merlin, having entered and advanced into the midst of the 
[ hall, summoned the presenters of the contending bands 
around him by a wave of his magical rod, and announced to 
* them, in a poetical speech, that the isle of Britain was now 
commanded by a royal maiden, to whom it was the will of 40 
fate that they should all do homage, and request of her to 
pronounce on the various pretensions which each set forth 
to be esteemed the preeminent stock from which the present 







422 KENILWORTH 

natives, the happy subjects of that angelical princess, derived 
their lineage. 

In obedience to this mandate, the bands, each moving to 
solemn music, passed in succession before Elizabeth; doing 
5 her, as they passed, each after the fashion of the people 
whom they represented, the lowest and most devotional 
homage, which she returned with the same gracious courtesy 
that had marked her whole conduct since she came to Kenil¬ 
worth. 

io The presenters of the several masques, or quadrilles, then 
alleged, each in behalf of his own troop, the reasons which 
they had for claiming preeminence over the rest; and when 
they had been all heard in turn, she returned them this 
gracious answer: “That she was sorry she was not better 
15 qualified to decide upon the doubtful question which had 
been propounded to her by the direction of the famous Mer¬ 
lin, but that it seemed to her that no single one of these cele¬ 
brated nations could claim preeminence over the others as 
having most contributed to form the Englishman of her own 
20 time, who unquestionably derived from each of them some 
worthy attribute of his character. Thus,” she said, “the 
Englishman had from the ancient Briton his bold and tame¬ 
less spirit of freedom; from the Roman his disciplined 
courage in war, with his love of letters and civilisatkm in 
25 time of peace; from the Saxon his wise and equitable laws; 
and from the chivalrous Norman his love of honour and 
courtesy, with his generous desire for glory/’ 

Merlin answered with readiness, that it did indeed require 
that so many choice qualities should meet in the English as 
30 might render them in some measure the muster of the perfec¬ 
tions of other nations, since that alone could render them in 
some degree deserving of the blessings they enjoyed under 
the reign of England’s Elizabeth. 

The music then sounded, and the quadrilles, together with 
35 Merlin and his assistants, had begun to remove from the 
crowded hall, when Leicester, who was, as we have men¬ 
tioned, stationed for the moment near the bottom of the hall, 
and consequently engaged in some degree in the crowd, felt 
himself pulled by the cloak, while a voice whispered in his 
40ear, “My lord, I do desire some instant conference with 
you.” 





CHAPTER XXXVIII 


How is’t with me, when every noise appals me. 

Macbeth. 

“I desire some conference with you.” The words were 
simple in themselves, but Lord Leicester was in that alarmed 
and feverish state of mind when the most ordinary occur¬ 
rences seemed fraught with alarming import; and he turned 
hastily round to survey the person by whom they had been 5 
spoken. There was nothing remarkable in the speaker’s ap¬ 
pearance, which consisted of a black silk doublet and short 
mantle, with a black vizard on his face; for it appeared he 
had been among the crowd of masks who had thronged into 
the hall in the retinue of Merlin, though he did not wear any 10 
of the extravagant disguises by which most of them were 
distinguished. 

“Who are you, or what do you want with me/ said 
Leicester, not without betraying, by his accents, the hurried 

state of his spirits. , ,,, A , *5 

“No evil, my lord,” answered the mask, “but much good 
and honour, if you will rightly understand my purpose. But 

I must speak with you more privately.” 

“ I can speak with no nameless stranger, answered Leices¬ 
ter dreading he knew not precisely what from the request 20 
of the stranger; “ and those who are known to me must seek 
another and a fitter time to ask an interview.” 

He would have hurried away, but the mask still detained 

“Those who talk to your lordship of what your own hon- 25 
our demands have a. right over your time, whatever occupa¬ 
tions you may lay aside in order to indulge them 

“How! my honour! Who dare impeach it ? said Leices¬ 
ter • 

“Your own conduct alone can furnish grounds for accusing 30 

it, my lord, and it is that topic on which I would speak with 


you. 


You are insolent,' 


* said Leicester, 
423 


‘and abuse the hospi- 







424 


KENILWORTH 


table license of the time, which prevents me from having you 
punished. I demand your name?” 

“ Edmund Tressilian of Cornwall,” answered the mask. 
“My tongue has been bound by a promise for four-and- 
5 twenty hours; the space is passed — I now speak, and do 
your lordship the justice to address myself first to you.” 

The thrill of astonishment which had penetrated to Leices¬ 
ter’s very heart at hearing that name pronounced by the 
voice of the man he most detested, and by whom he conceived 
xo himself so deeply injured, at first rendered him immovable 
but instantly gave way to such a thirst for revenge as the 
pilgrim in the desert feels for the water-brooks. He had but 
sense and self-government enough left to prevent his stab¬ 
bing to the heart the audacious villain who, after the ruin he 
15 had brought upon him, dared, with such unmoved assurance, 
thus to practise upon him farther. Determined to suppress 
for the moment every symptom of agitation in order to per¬ 
ceive the full scope of Tressilian’s purpose, as well as to 
secure his own vengeance, he answered in a tone so altered 
20 by restrained passion as scarce to be intelligible : “ And what 
does Master Edmund Tressilian require at my hand?” 

“Justice, my lord,” answered Tressilian, calmly but 
firmly. 

“Justice,” said Leicester, “all men are entitled to. You, 
25 Master Tressilian, are peculiarly so, and be assured you shall 
have it.” 

“I expect nothing less from your nobleness,” answered 
Tressilian; “but time presses, and I must speak with you to¬ 
night. May I wait on you in your chamber?” 

30 “ No,” answered Leicester, sternly, “ not under a roof, and 

that roof mine own. We will meet under the free cope of 
heaven.” 

“You are discomposed or displeased, my lord,” replied 
Tressilian; “yet there is no occasion for distemperature. 
35 The place is equal to me, so you allow me one half-hour of 
your time uninterrupted.” 

“A shorter time will, I trust, suffice,” answered Leicester. 
“Meet me in the Pleasance when the Queen has retired to 
her chamber.” 

40 “Enough,” said Tressilian, and withdrew; while a sort of 
rapture seemed for the moment to occupy the mind of 
Leicester. 

“ Heaven,” he said, “ is at last favourable to me, and has 


KENILWORTH 


425 


put within my reach the wretch who has branded me with 
this deep ignominy—who has inflicted on me this cruel agony. 

I will blame fate no more, since I am afforded the means 
of tracing the wiles by which he means still farther to prac¬ 
tise on me, and then of at once convicting and punishing his 5 
villainy. To my task — to my task ! I will not sink under 
it now, since midnight, at farthest, will bring me vengeance.” 

While these reflections thronged through Leicester’s mind, 
he again made his way amid the obsequious crowd, which 
divided to give him passage, and resumed his place, envied 10 
and admired, beside the person of his sovereign. But, could 
the bosom of him thus admired and envied have been laid 
open before the inhabitants of that crowded hall, with all its 
dark thoughts of guilty ambition, blighted affection, deep 
vengeance, and conscious sense of meditated cruelty crossing 15 
each other like spectres in the circle of some foul enchantress, 
which of them, from the most ambitious noble in the courtly 
circle down to the most wretched menial who lived by shift¬ 
ing of trenchers, would have desired to change characters 
with the favourite of Elizabeth and the Lord of Kenilworth! 20 

New tortures awaited him as soon as he had rejoined Eliza¬ 
beth. 

“You come in time, my lord,” she said, “to decide a dis¬ 
pute between us ladies. Here has Sir Richard Varney asked 
our permission to depart from the castle with his infirm lady, 25 
having, as he tells us, your lordship’s consent to his ab¬ 
sence, so he can obtain ours. Certes, we have no will to 
withhold him from the affectionate charge of this poor young 
person; but you are to know, that Sir Richard Varney hath 
this day shown himself so much captivated with these ladies 30 
of ours that here is our Duchess of Rutland says, he will 
carry his poor insane wife no farther than the lake, plunge her 
in, to tenant the crystal palaces that the enchanted nymph 
told us of, and return a jolly widower, to dry his tears and to 
make up the loss among our train. How say you, my lord ? 35 
We have seen Varney under two or three different guises; 
you know what are his proper attributes — think you he is 
capable of playing his lady such a knave’s trick?” 

Leicester was confounded, but the danger was urgent, and 
a reply absolutely necessary. “The ladies,” he said, “think 40 
too lightly of one of their own sex in supposing she could 
deserve such a fate, or too ill of ours, to think it could be 
inflicted upon an innocent female.” 







426 


KENILWORTH 


“Hear him, my ladies,” said Elizabeth; “like all his sex 
he would excuse their cruelty by imputing fickleness to us.” 

“Say not us, madam,” replied the earl; “we say that 
meaner women, like the lesser lights of heaven, have revolu- 
5 tions and phases, but who shall impute mutability to the sup 
or to Elizabeth?” 

The discourse presently afterwards assumed a less perilous 
tendency, and Leicester continued to support his part in it 
with spirit, at whatever expense of mental agony. So pleas- 
io ing did it seem to Elizabeth, that the castle bell had sounded 
midnight ere she retired from the company, a circumstance 
unusual in her quiet and regular habits of disposing of time. 
Her departure was, of course, the signal for breaking up the 
company, who dispersed to their several places of repose, to 
15 dream over the pastimes of the day or to anticipate those of 
the morrow. 

The unfortunate lord of the castle, and founder of the 
proud festival, retired to far different thoughts. His direc¬ 
tion to the valet who attended him was to send Varney in- 
20 stantly to his apartment. The messenger returned after 
some delay, and informed him that an hour had elapsed since 
Sir Richard Varney had left the castle by the postern gate, 
with three other persons, one of whom was transported in a 
horse-litter. 

25 “How came he to leave the castle after the watch was 
set?” said Leicester. “I thought he went not till day¬ 
break.” 

“He gave satisfactory reasons, as I understand,” said the 
domestic, “to the guard, and, as I hear, showed your lord- 
30 ship’s signet-” 

“True—-true,” said the earl; “yet he has been hasty. 
Do any of his attendants remain behind?” 

“Michael Lambourne, my lord, ” said the valet, “was not 
to be found when Sir Richard Varney departed, and his 
35 master was much incensed at his absence. I saw him but 
now saddling his horse to gallop after his master.” 

“ Bid him come hither instantly,” said Leicester; “ I have 
a message to his master.” 

The servant left the apartment, and Leicester traversed it 
40 for some time in deep meditation. “Varney is over zeal¬ 
ous,” he said — “over pressing. He loves me, I think; but 
he hath his own ends to serve, and he is inexorable in pursuit 
of them. If I rise he rises, and he hath shown himself 





KENILWORTH 


427 


already but too eager to rid me of this obstacle which seems 
to stand betwixt me and sovereignty. Yet I will not stoop 
to bear this disgrace. She shall be punished, but it shall be 
more advisedly. I already feel, even in anticipation, that 
overhaste would light the flames of hell in my bosom. No; 5 
one victim is enough at once, and that victim already waits 
me.” 

He seized upon writing materials, and hastily traced these 
words: 

“Sir Richard Varney, we have resolved to defer the mat- 10 
ter entrusted to your care, and strictly command you to pro¬ 
ceed no farther in relation to our countess until our further 
order. We also command your instant return to Kenil¬ 
worth, as soon as you have safely bestowed that with which 
you are entrusted. But if the safe-placing of your present 15 
charge shall detain you longer than we think for, we com¬ 
mand you, in that case, to send back our signet-ring by a 
trusty and speedy messenger, we having present need of the 
same. And requiring your strict obedience in these things, 
and commending you to God’s keeping, we rest your assured 20 
good friend and master, R. Leicester. 

Given at our Castle of Kenilworth, the tenth of July in 
the year of salvation one thousand five hundred and 
seventy-five.” 

As Leicester had finished and sealed this mandate, Michael 25 
Lambourne, booted up to mid-thigh, having his riding- 
cloak girthed around him with a broad belt, and a felt cap 
on his head, like that of a courier, entered his apartment, 
ushered in by the valet. 

“What is thy capacity of service?” said the earl. 30 

“Equerry to your lordship’s master of the horse,” an¬ 
swered Lambourne, with his customary assurance. 

“Tie up thy saucy tongue, sir,” said Leicester; “the jests 
that may suit Sir Richard Varney’s presence suit not mine. 
How soon wilt thou overtake thy master?” 35 

“In one hour’s riding, my lord, if man and horse hold 
good,” said Lambourne, with an instant alteration of de¬ 
meanour from an approach to familiarity to the deepest re¬ 
spect. The earl measured him with his eye from top to toe. 

“I have heard of thee,” he said: “men say thou art a 40 
prompt fellow in thy service, but too much given to brawling 
and to wassail to be trusted with things of moment.” 







428 


KENILWORTH 


“My lord,” said Lambourne, “I have been soldier, sailor, 
traveller, and adventurer; and these are all trades in which 
men enjoy to-day because they have no surety of to-morrow. 
But though I may misuse mine own leisure. I have never 
5 neglected the duty I owe my master. ” 

“ See that it be so in this instance,” said Leicester, “ and it 
shall do thee good. Deliver this letter speedily and carefully 
into Sir Richard Varney’s hands.” 

“ Does my commission reach no farther ? ” said Lambourne. , 
io “No,” answered Leicester; “but it deeply concerns me 
that it be carefully as well as hastily executed.” 

“ I will spare neither care nor horse-flesh,” answered Lam¬ 
bourne, and immediately took his leave. j 

“ So this is the end of my private audience, from which I 
15 hoped so much ! ” he muttered to himself, as he went through 
the long gallery and down the back staircase. “ Cog’s bones ! 

I thought the earl had wanted a cast of mine office in some 
secret intrigue, and it all ends in carrying a letter! Well, his 
pleasure shall be done, however, and, as his lordship well 
20 says, it may do me good another time. The child must 
creep ere he walk, and so must your infant courtier. I will 
have a look into this letter, however, which he hath sealed 
so sloven like.” Having accomplished this, he clapped his 
hands together in ecstacy, exclaiming, “The countess — 

25 the countess! I have the secret that shall make or mar me. 
But come .forth, Bayard,” he added, leading his horse into 
the courtyard, “for your flanks and my spurs must be pres¬ 
ently acquainted.” 

Lambourne mounted accordingly, and left the castle by 
30 the postern gate, where his free passage was permitted, in 
consequence of a message to that effect left by Sir Richard 
Varney. 

As soon as Lambourne and the valet had left the apart¬ 
ment, Leicester proceeded to change his dress for a very 
35 plain one, threw his mantle around him, and, taking a lamp 
in his hand, went by the private passage of communication 
to a small secret postern door which opened into the court¬ 
yard, near to the entrance of the Pleasance. His reflections 
were of a more calm and determined character than they 
40 had been at any late period, and he endeavoured to claim, 
even in his own eyes, the character of a man more sinned 
against than sinning. 

“ I have suffered the deepest injury,” such was the tenor of 




KENILWORTH 


429 


his meditations, “yet I have restricted the instant revenge 
which was in my power, and have limited it to that which is 
manly and noble. But shall the union which this false 
woman has this day disgraced remain an abiding fetter on 
me, to check me in the noble career to which my destinies in- 5 
vite me? No — there are other means of disengaging such 
ties, without unloosing the cords of life. In the sight of 
God, I am no longer bound by the union she has broken. 
Kingdoms shall divide us — oceans roll betwixt us, and 
their waves, whose abysses have swallowed whole navies, 10 
shall be the sole depositaries of the deadly mystery .” 

By such a train of argument did Leicester labour to recon¬ 
cile his conscience to the prosecution of plans of vengeance so 
hastily adopted, and of schemes of ambition which had be¬ 
come so woven in with every purpose and action of his life 15 
that he was incapable of the effort of relinquishing them; 
until his revenge appeared to him to wear a face of justice, 
and even of generous moderation. 

In this mood, the vindictive and ambitious earl entered 
the superb precincts of the Pleasance, then illuminated by 20 
the full moon. The broad yellow light was reflected on all 
sides from the white freestone of which the pavement, 
balustrades, and architectural ornaments of the place were 
constructed, and not a single fleecy cloud was visible in the 
azure sky, so that the scene was nearly as light as if the sun 25 
had but just left the horizon. The numerous statues of 
white marble glimmered in the pale light, like so many 
sheeted ghosts just arisen from their sepulchres, and the 
fountains threw their jets into the air, as if they sought that 
their waters should be brightened by the moonbeams, ere 30 
they fell down again upon their basins in showers of spark¬ 
ling silver. The day had been sultry, and the gentle night 
breeze, which sighed along the terrace of the Pleasance, 
raised not a deeper breath than the fan in the hand of 
youthful beauty. The bird of summer night had built 35 
many a nest in the bowers of the adjacent garden, and the 
tenants now indemnified themselves for silence during the 
day by a full chorus of their own unrivalled warblings, now 
joyous, now pathetic, now united, now responsive to each 
other, as if to express their delight in the placid and delicious 40 
scene to which they poured their melody. 

Musing on matters far different from the fall of waters, 
the gleam of moonlight, or the song of the nightingale, the 








430 


KENILWORTH 


stately Leicester walked slowly from the one end °f 
terrace to the other, his cloak wrapped around him, and his 
sword under his arm, without seeing anything resembling 

the human form. „. fT 

c “ I have been fooled by my own generosity, he said, ill 
have suffered the villain to escape me — ay, and perhaps to 
go to the rescue of the adulteress, who is so poorly guarded 

These were his thoughts, which were instantly dispelled 
when turning to look back towards the entrance he saw a 
io human form advancing slowly from the portico, and dark¬ 
ening the various objects with its shadow, as passing them 
successively, in its approach towards him. 

“ Shall I strike ere I again hear his detested voice ? was 
Leicester’s thought, as he grasped the hilt of the sword, 
is “But no! I will see which way his vile practice tends, l 
will watch, disgusting as it is, the coils and mazes of the 
loathsome snake, ere I put forth my strength and crush him. 

His hand quitted the sword-hilt, and he advanced slowly 
towards Tressilian, collecting, for their meeting, all the self- 
20 possession he could command, until they came front to front 
with each other. . . 

Tressilian made a profound reverence, to which the earl re¬ 
plied with a haughty inclination of the head, and the words, 
“You sought secret conference with me, sir; I am here, and 

2< attentive.” . , ... 

“ My lord,” said Tressilian, “ I am so earnest in that which 
I have to say, and so desirous to find a patient, nay, a favour¬ 
able, hearing, that I will stoop to exculpate myself from 
whatever might prejudice your lordship against me. You 
10 think me your enemy?” . 

“Have I not some apparent cause?” answered Leicester 
perceiving that Tressilian paused for a reply. 

“You do me wrong, my lord. I am a friend, but neither 
a dependant nor partizan, of the Earl of Sussex, whom 
35 courtiers call your rival; and it is some considerable time 
since I ceased to regard either courts or court intrigues as 
suited to my temper or genius.” 

“No doubt, sir,” answered Leicester, “there are other 
occupations more worthy a scholar, and for such the world 
40 holds Master Tressilian: love has his intrigues as well as 
ambition.” 

“I perceive, my lord,” replied Tressilian, “you give much 
weight to my early attachment for the unfortunate young 




KENILWORTH 


431 


| person of whom I am about to speak, and perhaps think I am 
prosecuting her cause out of rivalry more than a sense of 
justice.” 

“ No matter for my thoughts, sir,” said the earl; “ proceed. 
You have as yet spoken of yourself only — an important and 5 
worthy subject doubtless, but which, perhaps, does not alto¬ 
gether so deeply concern me that I should postpone my repose 
to hear it. Spare me farther prelude, sir, and speak to the 
i purpose, if indeed you have aught to say that concerns me. 

I When you have done, I, in my turn, have something to com- 10 
municate.” 

“I will speak, then, without farther prelude, my lord,^ 

! answered Tressilian; “ having to say that which, as it con- 
I cerns your lordship’s honour, I am confident you will not 
1 think your time wasted in listening to. I have to request an 15 
I account from your lordship of the unhappy Amy Robsart, 

I whose history is too well known to you. I regret deeply that 
I did not at once take this course, and make yourself judge 
i between me and the villain by whom she is injured. My 
lord, she extricated herself from an unlawful and most peril- 20 
] ous stath of confinement, trusting to the effects of her own 
ij remonstrance upon her unworthy husband, and extorted 
| from me a promise that I would not interfere in her behalf 
i until she had used her own efforts to have her rights acknow- 
I ledged by him.” 25 

“Ha!” said Leicester, “remember you to whom you 
speak?” 

“I speak of her unworthy husband, my lord,” repeated 
I Tressilian, “and my respect can find no softer language. 
The unhappy young woman is withdrawn from my know- 30 
ledge, and sequestered in some secret place of this castle — 
if she be not transferred to some place of exclusion better 
fitted for bad designs. This must be reformed, my lord — 

I speak it as authorised by her father — and this ill-fated 
marriage must be avouched and proved in the Queen’s 35 
presence, and the lady placed without restraint and at her 
own free disposal. And, permit me to say, it concerns no 
one’s honour that these most just demands should be com¬ 
plied with so much as it does that of your lordship.” 

The earl stood as if he had been petrified, at the extremes 
coolness with which the man, whom he considered as having 
injured him so deeply, pleaded the cause of his criminal para¬ 
mour, as if she had been an innocent woman, and he a disin- 









432 


KENILWORTH 


terested advocate; nor was his wonder lessened by the 
warmth with which Tressilian seemed to demand for her 
the rank and situation which she had disgraced, and the 
advantages of which she was doubtless to share with the 
5 lover who advocated her cause with such effrontery. Tres¬ 
silian had been silent for more than a minute ere the earl 
recovered from the excess of his astonishment; and, consid¬ 
ering the prepossessions with which his mind was occupied, 
there is little wonder that his passion gained the mastery 
ioof every other consideration. “I have heard you, Master 
Tressilian/’ said he, “without interruption, and I bless 
God that my ears were never before made to tingle by the 
words of so frontless a villain. The task of chastising you 
is fitter for the hangman’s scourge than the sword of a 
15 nobleman, but yet- Villain, draw and defend thy¬ 

self!” 

As he spoke the last words, he dropped his mantle on the 
ground, struck Tressilian smartly with his sheathed sword, 
and instantly drawing his rapier, put himself into a posture 
20 of assault. The vehement fury of his language at first filled 
Tressilian, in his turn, with surprise equal to what Leicester 
had felt when he addressed him. But astonishment gave 
rise to resentment, when the unmerited insults of his lan¬ 
guage were followed by a blow, which immediately put to 
25 flight every thought save that of instant combat. Tres- 
silian’s sword was instantly drawn, and though perhaps 
somewhat inferior to Leicester in the use of the weapon, he 
understood it well enough to maintain the contest with 
great spirit, the rather that of the two he was for the time 
30 the more cool, since he could not help imputing Leicester’s 
conduct either to actual frenzy or to the influence of some 
strong delusion. 

The rencontre had continued for several minutes, without 
either party receiving a wound, when of a sudden voices were 
35 heard beneath the portico, which formed the entrance of the 
terrace, mingled with the steps of men advancing hastily. 
“We are interrupted,” said Leicester to his antagonist; 
“follow me.” 

At the same time a voice from the portico said, “The 
40 jackanape is right: they are tilting here.” 

Leicester, meanwhile, drew off Tressilian into a sort of 
recess behind one of the fountains, which served to conceal 
them, while six of the yeomen of the Queen’s guard passed 





KENILWORTH 


433 


along the middle walk of the Pleasance, and they could hear 
one say to the rest, “We shall never find them to-night 
amongst all these squirting funnels, squirrel-cages, and 
e I rabbit-holes; but if we light not on them before we reach 
; the farther end, we will return, and mount a guard at the 5 
rl entrance, and so secure them till morning.” 

“A proper matter,” said another, “the drawing of swords 
1 , so near the Queen’s presence, ay, and in her very palace as 
’twere ! Hang it, they must be some poor drunken game- 
r : cocks fallen to sparring; ’twere pity almost we should 10 
;s ; find them — the penalty is chopping off a hand, is it not? 

’Twere hard to lose hand for handling a bit of steel, that 
u ! comes so natural to one’s gripe.” 

“Thou art a brawler thyself, George,” said another; “but 
1 take heed, for the law stands as thou sayest.” 15 

“Ay,” said the first, “an the act be not mildly construed; 
for thou know’st ’tis not the Queen’s palace, but my Lord of 
j Leicester’s.” 

“Why; for that matter, the penalty may be as severe,” 
d said another; “for an our gracious mistress be queen, as she 20 
r is, God save her, my Lord of Leicester is as good as king.” 

“Hush ! thou knave !” said a third; “how know’st thou 
. who may be within hearing ? ” 

They passed on, making a kind of careless search, but 
. seemingly more intent on their own conversation than bent 25 
s on discovering the persons who had created the nocturnal 
ie disturbance. 

d They had no sooner passed forward along the terrace than 
lg Leicester, making a sign to Tressilian to follow him, glided 
away in an opposite direction, and escaped through the 30 
3 portico undiscovered. He conducted Tressilian to Mervyn’s 
Tower, in which he was now again lodged; and then, ere 
it parting with him, said these words, “ If thou hast courage to 
. e continue and bring to an end what is thus broken off, be 
, e near me when the court goes forth to-morrow; we shall 35 
( find a time, and I will give you a signal when it is fitting.” 

• “My lord,” said Tressilian, “at another time I might have 

inquired the meaning of this strange and furious inveteracy 
[6 against me. But you have laid that on my shoulder which 
only blood can wash away: and were you as high as your 40 
( f proudest wishes ever carried you, I would have from you 
j satisfaction for my wounded honour.” 

d On these terms they parted, but the adventures of the 
2 F 






434 


KENILWORTH 


night were not yet ended with Leicester. He was compelled 
to pass by Saintlowe’s Tower in order to gain the private 
passage which led to his own chamber, and in the entrance 
thereof he met Lord Hunsdon half-clothed and with a naked 

5 sword under his arm. T j * 

“Are you awakened, too, with this larum, my Lord of 
Leicester?” said the old soldier. “ ’Tis well By gogs 
nails, the nights are as noisy as the day m this castle of 
yours. Some two hours since, I was waked by the screams 
io of that poor brainsick Lady Varney, whom her husband 
was forcing away. I promise you, it required both your 
warrant and the Queen’s to keep me from entering into 
the game, and cutting that Varney of yours over the head; 
and now there is a brawl down in the Pleasance, or what 
15 call you the stone terrace-walk where all yonder gimcracks 

stand?” . , ,, , ,, 

The first part of the old man’s speech went through the 
earl’s heart like a knife; to the last he answered that he him¬ 
self had heard the clash of swords, and had come down to 
20 take order with those who had been so insolent so near the 
Queen’s presence. ; 

“Nay, then,” said Hunsdon, “I will be glad of your lord¬ 
ship’s company.” 

Leicester was thus compelled to turn back with the rough 
25 old lord to the Pleasance, where Hunsdon heard from the 
yeomen of the guard, who were under his immediate com¬ 
mand, the unsuccessful search they had made for the authors 
of the disturbance; and bestowed for their pains some round 
dozen of curses on them, as lazy knaves and blind whore- 
30 sons. Leicester also thought it necessary to seem angry 
that no discovery had been effected; but at length sug¬ 
gested to Lord Hunsdon that, after all, it could only be 
some foolish young men who had been drinking healths 
pottle-deep, and who would be sufficiently scared by the 
35 search which had taken place after them. Hunsdon, who 
was himself attached to his cup, allowed that a pint-flagon 
might cover many of the follies which it had caused. “ But, 
he added, “unless your lordship will be less liberal in your 
housekeeping, and restrain the overflow of ale, and wine, 
40 and wassail, I foresee it will end in my having some of these 
good fellows into the guard-house, and treating them to a 
dose of the strappado. ,And with this warning, good-night 
to you.” 






KENILWORTH 


435 


Joyful at being rid of his company, Leicester took leave of 
him at the entrance of his lodging, where they had first met, 
and entering the private passage, took up the lamp which he 
had left there, and by its expiring light found the way to his 
own apartment. 5 


9 










CHAPTER XXXIX 


Room ! room ! for my horse will wince 
If he comes within so many yards of a prince. 

For to tell you true, and in rhyme, 

He was foal’d in Queen Elizabeth’s time; 

When the great Earl of Lester 
In his castle did feast her. 

Ben Jonson, Masque of Owls. 

The amusement with which Elizabeth and her court were 
next day to be regaled was an exhibition by the true¬ 
hearted men of Coventry, 0 who were to represent the strife 
between the English and the Danes, agreeably to a custom 
5 long preserved in their ancient borough, and warranted for 
truth by old histories and chronicles. In this pageant, one 
party of the townsfolk presented the Saxons and the other 
the Danes, and set forth, both in rude rhymes and with hard 
blows, the contentions of these two fierce nations, and the j 
io Amazonian courage of the English women, who, according to 
the story, were the principal agents in the general massacre 
of the Danes, which took place at Hocktide, 0 in the year of 
God 1012. This sport, which had been long a favourite • 
pastime with the men of Coventry, had, it seems, been put 
15 down by the influence of some jealous clergyman of the ; 
more precise cast, who chanced to have considerable influ- , 
ence with the magistrates. But the generality of the in¬ 
habitants had petitioned the Queen that they might have 
their play again, and be honoured with permission to repre- 
20 sent it before her Highness. And when the matter was 
canvassed in the little council which usually attended the 
Queen for despatch of business, the proposal, although 
opposed by some of the stricter sort, found favour in the 
eyes of Elizabeth, who said that such toys occupied, without 
25 offence, the minds of many who,’lacking them, might find 
worse subjects of pastime; and that their pastors, however 
commendable for learning and godliness, were somewhat too 
sour in preaching against the pastimes of their flocks; and so 
the pageant was permitted to proceed. 

436 







KENILWORTH 


437 


Accordingly, after a morning repast, which Master Lane- 
ham calls an ambrosial breakfast, the principal persons of 
the court, in attendance upon her Majesty, pressed to the 
Gallery Tower, to witness the approach of the two contend¬ 
ing parties of English and Danes; and after a signal had 5 
been given, the gate which opened in the circuit of the chase 
was thrown wide to admit them. On they came, foot and 
horse; for some of the more ambitious burghers and yeomen 
had put themselves into fantastic dresses, imitating knights, 
in order to resemble the chivalry of the two different nations. 10 
However, to prevent fatal accidents, they were not permitted 
to appear on real horses, but had only license to accoutre 
themselves with those hobby-horses, as they are called, 
which anciently formed the chief delight of a morrice-dance,° 
and which still are exhibited on the stage, in the grand battle 15 
fought at the conclusion of Mr. Bayes’s tragedy. 0 The 
infantry followed in similar disguises. The whole exhibition 
was to be considered as a sort of anti-masque, or burlesque 
of the more stately pageants, in which the nobility and gentry 
bore part in the show, and, to the best of their knowledge, 20 
imitated with accuracy the personages whom they repre¬ 
sented. The Hocktide play was of a different character, 
the actors being persons of inferior degree, and their habits 
the better fitted for the occasion the more incongruous and 
ridiculous that they were in themselves. Accordingly, 25 
their array, which the progress of our tale allows us no time 
to describe, was ludicrous enough, and their weapons, 
though sufficiently formidable to deal sound blows, were 
long alder-poles instead of lances, and sound cudgels for 
swords; and for fence, both cavalry and infantry were well 30 
equipped with stout head-pieces and targets, both made of 
thick leather. 

Captain Coxe,° that celebrated humourist of Coventry, 
whose library of ballads, almanacks, and penny histories, 
fairly wrapped up in parchment, and tied round for security 35 
with a piece of whipcord, remains still the envy of antiqua¬ 
ries, being himself the ingenious person under whose direction 
the pageant had been set forth, rode valiantly on his hobby¬ 
horse before the bands of English, high-trussed, saith Lane- 
ham, and brandishing his long sword, as became an expe-40 
rienced man of war, who had fought under the Queen’s 
father, bluff King Henry, at the siege of Boulogne. 0 This 
chieftain was, as right and reason craved, the first to enter 




438 


KENILWORTH 


1 


the lists, and, passing the gallery at the head of his myrmi¬ 
dons, kissed the hilt of his sword to the Queen, and executed 
at the same time a gambade, the like whereof had never been 
practised by two-legged hobby-horse. Then passing on 
c with all his followers of cavaliers and infantry, he drew them 
up with martial skill at the opposite extremity of the bridge, 
or tilt-yard, until his antagonists should be fairly prepared 
for the onset. 

This was no long interval; for the Danish cavalry and in- 
IO fantry, no way inferior to the English in number, valour, and 
equipment, instantly arrived, with the northern bagpipe 
blowing before them in token of their country, and headed by 
a cunning master of defence, only inferior to the renowned 
Captain Coxe, if to him, in the discipline of war. The Danes, 
je as invaders, took their station under the Gallery Tower, and 
opposite to that of Mortimer; and, when their arrangements 
were completely made, a signal was given for the encounter. 

Their first charge upon each other was rather moderate, 
for either party had some dread of being forced into the lake. 

20 But as reinforcements came up on either side, the encounter j 
grew from a skirmish into a blazing battle. They rushed 
upon one another, as Master Laneham testifies, like rams in¬ 
flamed by jealousy, with such furious encounter that both 
parties were often overthrown, and the clubs and targets 
25 made a most horrible clatter. In many instances that 
happened which had been dreaded by the more experienced 
warriors who began the day of strife. The rails which 
defended the ledges of the bridge had been, perhaps on pur¬ 
pose, left but slightly fastened, and gave way under the 
30 pressure of those who thronged to the combat, so that the | 
hot courage of many of the combatants received a sufficient , 
cooling. These incidents might have occasioned more 
serious damage than became such an affray, for many of the jj 
champions who met with this mischance could not swim, 

35 and those who could were encumbered with their suits of ; ; 
leathern and of paper armour; but the case had been pro¬ 
vided for, and there were several boats in readiness to pick 
up the unfortunate warriors and convey them to the dry ; 
land, where, dripping and dejected, they comforted them- 
40 selves with the hot ale and strong waters which were liberally 
allowed to them, without showing any desire to re-enter so j 
desperate a conflict. 

Captain Coxe alone, that paragon of black-letter antiqua- ; 







KENILWORTH 


439 


ries, after twice experiencing, horse and man, the perilous 
leap from the bridge into the lake, equal to any extremity 
to which the favourite heroes of chivalry, whose exploits 
he studied in an abridged form, whether Amadis, 0 Belianis, 
Bevis, or his own Guy of Warwick, had ever been subjected r 

. Captain Coxe, we repeat, did alone, after two such 
mischances, rush again into the heat of conflict, his bases 
and the foot-cloth of his hobby-horse dropping water, and 
twice reanimated by voice and example the drooping spirits 
of the English,* so that at length their victory over the io 
Danish invaders became, as was just and reasonable, 
complete and decisive. Worthy he was to be rendered 
immortal by the pen of Ben Jonson, who, fifty years 
afterwards, deemed that a masque, exhibited at Kenil¬ 
worth, could be ushered in by none with so much propriety it 
as by the ghost of Captain Coxe, mounted upon his re¬ 
doubted hobby-horse. 

These rough rural gambols may not altogether agree with 
the reader’s preconceived idea of an entertainment presented 
before Elizabeth, in whose reign letters revived with such 20 
brilliancy, and whose court, governed by a female whose sense 
of propriety was equal to her strength of mind, was no less 
distinguished for delicacy and refinement than her councils 
for wisdom and fortitude. But whether from the political 
wish to seem interested in popular sports, or whether from a o 5 
spark of old Henry’s rough masculine spirit, which Elizabeth 
sometimes displayed, it is certain the Queen laughed heartily 
at the imitation, or rather burlesque, of chivalry which was 
presented in the Coventry play. She called near her person 
the Earl of Sussex and Lord Hunsdon, partly perhaps to 30 
make amends to the former for the long and private audi¬ 
ences with which she had indulged the Earl of Leicester, 
by engaging him in conversation upon a pastime which 
better suited his taste than those pageants that were fur¬ 
nished forth from the stores of antiquity. The disposition 35 
which the Queen showed to laugh and jest with her military 
leaders gave the Earl of Leicester the opportunity he had 
been watching for withdrawing from the royal presence, 
which to the court around, so well had he chosen his time, 
had the graceful appearance of leaving his rival free access 40 
to the Queen’s person instead of availing himself of his right 
as her landlord to stand perpetually betwixt others and the 
light of her countenance. 






440 


KENILWORTH 


Leicester's thoughts, however, had a far different object 
from mere courtesy; for no sooner did he see the Queen 
fairly engaged in conversation with Sussex and Hunsdon, 
behind whose back stood Sir Nicholas Blount, grinning 
e from ear to ear at each word which was spoken than, 

5 making a sign to Tressilian, who, according to appointment, 
watchfd Ms motions at a little distance, he extricated him¬ 
self from the press, and walking towards the chase, made his 
way through the crowds of ordinary spectators, who, with 

„ n mouth stood gazing on the battle of the English and 
10 the Danes. ’ When he had accomplished this, wtdch was a 
work of some difficulty, he shot another glance behind him 
to see that Tressilian had been equally successful, and as 
soon as he saw him also free from the crowd, he led the way 
j 5 to a small thicket, behind which stood a lackey with two 
5 horses ready saddled. He flung himself on the one, and 
made signs to Tressilian to mount the other, who obeyed 
without speaking a single word. 

Leicester then spurred his horse, and galloped without 
20 stopping until he reached a sequestered spot, environed by 
lofty oaks, about a mile's distance from the castle, and in an 
opposite direction from the scene to which curiosity was 
drawing every spectator. He there dismounted bound his 
horse to a tree, and only pronouncing the words, ‘ Here there 
2 5 is no risk of interruption," laid his cloak across his saddle 
and drew his sword. 

Tressilian imitated his example punctually, yet could not 
forbear saying, as he drew his weapon, “My lord, as I have 
been known to many as one who does not fear death, when 
•20 placed in balance with honour, methinks I may without dero¬ 
gation ask, wherefore, in the name of all that is honourable, 
vour lordship has dared to offer me such a mark of disgrace 
as places us on these terms with respect to each other ? 

“ If you like not such marks of my scorn,” replied the earl, 
35 “betake yourself instantly to your weapon, lest I repeat the 
usage you complain of." 

“It shall not need, my lord," said Tressilian. God 
judge betwixt us! and your blood, if you fall, be on your 
own head." 

4 o He had scarce completed the sentence when they instantly 
closed in combat. 

But Leicester, who was a perfect master of defence among 
all other exterior accomplishments of the time, had seen, on 







KENILWORTH 


441 


the preceding night, enough of Tressilian’s strength and skill 
to make him fight with more caution than heretofore and 
prefer a secure revenge to a hasty one. For some minutes 
they fought with equal skill and fortune, till, in a desperate 
lunge which Leicester successfuly put aside, Tressilian c 
exposed himself at disadvantage; and, in a subsequent 
attempt to close, the earl forced his sword from his hand and 
stretched him on the ground. With a grim smile, he held 
the point of his rapier within two inches of the throat of his 
fallen adversary, and placing his foot at the same time upon io 
ms breast, bid him confess his villainous wrongs towards 
him, and prepare for death. 

“1 have no villainy nor wrong towards thee to confess,” 
answered Tressilian, “ and am better prepared for death than 
thou. Use thme advantage as thou wilt, and may God for- 15 
give you! I have given you no cause for this.” 

No cause ! exclaimed the earl — “no cause ! But why 
parley with such a slave? Die a liar, as thou hast lived!” 

He had withdrawn his arm for the purpose of striking the 
fatal blow, when it was suddenly seized from behind. 20 

The earl turned in wrath to shake off the unexpected ob¬ 
stacle, but was surprised to find that a strange-looking boy 
had hold of his sword-arm, and clung to it with such tenacity 
of grasp that he could not shake him off without a consider¬ 
able struggle, in the course of which Tressilian had oppor- 25 
tunity to rise and possess himself once more of his weapon. 
Leicester again turned towards him with looks of unabated 
ferocity, and the combat would have recommenced with 
still more desperation on both sides, had not the boy clung 
to Lord Leicester’s knees, and in a shrill tone implored him 30 
to listen one moment ere he prosecuted this quarrel. 

“ Stand up, and let me go,” said Leicester, “ or, by Heaven, 

I will pierce thee with my rapier! What hast thou to do to 
bar my way to revenge?” 

“Much — much ! ” exclaimed the undaunted boy; “since 35 
my folly has been the cause of these bloody quarrels between 
you, and perchance of worse evils. Oh, if you would ever 
again enjoy the peace of an innocent mind, if you hope 
again to^ sleep in peace and unhaunted by remorse, take so 
much leisure as to peruse this letter, and then do as you 40 
list.” 

While he spoke in this eager and earnest manner, to which 
his singular features and voice gave a goblin-like effect, he 






442 


KENILWORTH 


held up to Leicester a packet, secured with a long tress of 
woman’s hair, of a beautiful light brown colour Enraged 
as he was, nay, almost blinded with fury to see his destined 
revenge so strangely frustrated, the Earl °^Eeicester coidd 
q not Resist this extraordinary supplicant. He snatched the 
letter from his hand, changed colour as he looked on ithe 
superscription, undid, with faltering hand, the knot which 
secured it, glanced over the contents, and, staggering back, 
would have fallen, had he not rested against the trunk of a 
io tree where he stood for an instant, his eyes bent on the 
letter and his sword-point turned to the ground, without 
seeming to be conscious of the presence of an antagonist 
towards whom he had shown little mercy, and who might 
in turn have taken him at advantage. But for such revenge 
iq Tressilian was too noble-minded; he also stood still m sur¬ 
prise, waiting the issue of this strange fit of passion, but 
holding: his weapon ready to defend himself, in case of need, 
against some new and sudden attack on the part of Leicester, 
whom he again suspected to be under the influence of actual 
20 frenzy. The boy, indeed, he easily recognised as his old 
acquaintance Dickon, whose face, once seen, was scarcely 
to be forgotten; but how he came thither at so critical a 
moment, why his interference was so energetic, and, above 
all how’ it came to produce so powerful an effect upon 
2 q Leicester, were questions which he could not solve. 

But the letter was of itself powerful enough to work 
effects yet more wonderful. It was that which the unfortu¬ 
nate Amy had written to her husband, in which she alleged 
the reasons and manner of her flight from Cumnor Place, 
20 informed him of her having made her way to Kenilworth 
to enioy his protection, and mentioned the circumstances 
which had compelled her to take refuge in Tressilian s 
apartment, earnestly requesting he would, without delay, 
assign her a more suitable asylum. The letter concluded 
2 c with the most earnest expressions of devoted attachment 
and submission to his will in all things, and particularly 
respecting her situation and place of residence, conjuring 
him only that she might not be placed under the guardian¬ 
ship or restraint of Varney. , , , . , 

40 The letter dropped from Leicester s hand when he had 
perused it “Take my sword,” he said, “Tressilian, and 
pierce my heart, as I would but now have pierced 
yours! ” 





KENILWORTH 


443 


My lord, said Tressilian, “you have done me great 
wrong; but something within my breast ever whispered that 
it was by egregious error.” 

“Error indeed!” said Leicester, and handed him the 
letter; “I have been made to believe a man of honour a5 
villain, and the best and purest of creatures a false profligate. 
Wretched boy, why comes this letter now, and where has the 
bearer lingered?” 

“I dare not tell you, my lord,” said the boy, withdrawing, 
as if to keep beyond his reach; “but here comes one who was 10 
the messenger.” 

Wayland at the same moment came up; and, interrogated 
by Leicester, hastily detailed all the circumstances of his es¬ 
cape with Amy, the fatal practices which had driven her to 
flight, and her anxious desire to throw herself under the in- 15 
stant protection of her husband, pointing out the evidence of 
the domestics of Kenilworth, “who could not,” he observed, 
“but remember her eager inquiries after the Earl of Leicester 
on her first arrival.” 

“The villains ! ” exclaimed Leicester; “but oh, that worst 20 
of villains, Varney, and she is even now in his power!” 

“But not, I trust in God,” said Tressilian, “with any 
commands of fatal import.” 

“No — no — no!” exclaimed the earl, hastily. “I s'aid 
something in madness; but it was recalled — fully recalled 25 
— by a hasty messenger; and she is now — she must now 
be safe.” 

“Yes,” said Tressilian, “she must be safe, and I must be 
assured of her safety. My own quarrel with you is ended, 
my lord; but there is another to begin with the seducer of 30 
Amy Robsart, who has screened his guilt under the cloak of 
the infamous Varney.” 

“The seducer of Amy!” replied Leicester, with a voice 
like thunder; “say her husband ! — her misguided, blinded, 
most unworthy husband! She is as surely Countess of 35 
Leicester as I am belted earl. Nor can you, sir, point out 
that manner of justice which I will not render her at my 
own free will. I need scarce say, I fear not your com¬ 
pulsion.” 

The generous nature of Tressilian was instantly turned 40 
from consideration of anything personal to himself, and 
centred at once upon Amy’s welfare. He had by no means 
undoubting confidence in the fluctuating resolutions of 








444 


KENILWORTH 




Leicester, whose mind seemed to him agitated beyond the 
government of calm reason; neither did he, notwithstanding 
the assurances he had received, think Amy safe m the hands 
of his dependants. “ My lord,” he said calmly, I mean you 
5 no offence, and am far from seeking a quarrel But my 
duty to Sir Hugh Robsart compels me to carry this matter 
instantly to the Queen, that the countess’s rank may be 

acknowledged in her person.” 

“You shall not need, sir,” replied the earl, haughtily; 
io “do not dare to interfere. No voice but Dudleys shall 
proclaim Dudley’s infamy. To Elizabeth herself will i 
tell it, and then for Cumnor Place with the speed of life and 

death!” . .. 

So saying, he unbound his horse from the tree, threw 
15 himself into the saddle, and rode at full gallop towards the 


“Take me before you, Master Tressilian,” said the boy, 
seeing Tressilian mount in the same haste; “my tale is not 
all told out, and I need your protection.” 

20 Tressilian complied, and followed the earl, though at a less 
furious rate. By the way the boy confessed, with much con¬ 
trition, that in resentment at Wayland’s evading all his in¬ 
quiries concerning the lady, after Dickon conceived he had 
in various ways merited his confidence, he had purloined 
25 from him, in revenge, the letter with which Amy had entrusted 
him for the Earl of Leicester. His purpose was to have 
restored it to him that evening, as he reckoned himself 
sure of meeting with him, in consequence of Wayland’s 
having to perform the part of Arion in the pageant. He 
30 was indeed something alarmed when he saw to whom the 
letter was addressed; but he argued that, as Leicester did 
not return to Kenilworth until that evening, it would be 
again in the possession of the proper messenger as soon as, 
in the nature of things, it could possibly be delivered. But 
35 Wayland came not to the pageant, having been in the interim 
expelled by Lambourne from the castle, and the boy, not 
being able to find him, or to get speech of Tressilian, and 
finding himself in possession of a letter addressed to no less 
a person than the Earl of Leicester, became much afraid 
40 of the consequences of his frolic. The caution, and indeed 
the alarm, which Wayland had expressed respecting Varney 
and Lambourne, led him to judge that the letter must be 
designed for the earl’s own hand, and that he might prejudice 






KENILWORTH 


445 


the lady by giving it to any of the domestics. He made an 
attempt or two to obtain an audience of Leicester, but the 
singularity of his features and the meanness of his appear¬ 
ance occasioned his being always repulsed by the insolent 
menials whom he applied to for that purpose. Once, in- c 
deed, he had nearly succeeded, when, in prowling about he 
found in the grotto the casket which he knew to belong to the 
unlucky countess, having seen it on her journey, for nothing 
escaped his prying eye. Having strove in vain to restore it 
either to Tressilian or the countess, he put it into the hands, 10 
as we have seen, of Leicester himself, but unfortunately he 
did not recognise him in his disguise. 

. At length the boy thought he was on the point of succeed¬ 
ing, when the earl came down to the lower part of the hall • 
but just as he was about to accost him, he was prevented by ic 
Tressilian. As sharp in ear as in wit, the boy heard the ap¬ 
pointment settled betwixt them to take place in the Pleas- 
ance, and resolved to add a third to the party, in hopes that 
either in coming or in returning, he might find an opportu¬ 
nity of delivering the letter to Leicester; for strange stories 20 
began to flit among the domestics, which alarmed him for the 
lady's safety. Accident, however, detained Dickon a little 
behind the earl, and, as he reached the arcade, he saw them 
engaged in combat; in consequence of which he hastened to 
alarm the guard, having little doubt that what bloodshed 25 
took place betwixt them might arise out of his own frolic. 
Continuing to lurk in the portico, he heard the second ap¬ 
pointment which Leicester, at parting, assigned to Tres¬ 
silian, and was keeping them in view during the encounter of 
the Coventry men, when, to his surprise, he recognised Way- 30 
land in the crowd, much disguised, indeed, but not sufficiently 
so to escape the prying glance of his old comrade. They 
drew aside out of the crowd to explain their situation to each 
other. The boy confessed to Wayland what we have above 
told, and the artist, in return, informed him that his deep 35 
anxiety for the fate of the unfortunate lady had brought him 
back to the neighbourhood of the castle, upon his learning 
that morning at a village about ten miles distant that Varney 
and Lambourne, whose violence he dreaded, had both left 
Kenilworth over-night. 4 o 

While they spoke, they saw Leicester and Tressilian sepa¬ 
rate themselves from the crowd, dogged them until they 
mounted their horses, when the boy, whose speed of foot has 





446 


KENILWORTH 


been before mentioned, though he could not possibly keep 
up with them, yet arrived, as we have seen soon enough to 
save Tressilian’s life. The boy had just finished his tale 
when they reached the Gallery Tower. 






CHAPTER XL 


High o’er the eastern steep the sun is beaming, 

And darkness flies with her deceitful shadows; 

So truth prevails o’er falsehood. 

Old Play. 

As Tressilian rode along the bridge lately the scene of so 
much riotous sport, he could not but observe that men’s 
countenances had singularly changed during the space of his 
brief absence. The mock fight was over, but the men, still 
habited in their masquing suits, stood together in groups, 5 
11 he the inhabitants of a city who have been just startled by 

ne strange and alarming news. 

When he reached the base-court, appearances were the 
same; domestics, retainers, and under officers stood together 
and whispered, bending their eyes towards the windows of 10 
the great hall, with looks which seemed at once alarmed and 
mysterious. 

Sir Nicholas Blount was the first person of his own par¬ 
ticular acquaintance Tressilian saw, who left him no time to 
make inquiries, but greeted him with, “God help thy heart, 15 
Tressilian, thou art fitter for a clown than a courtier: thou 
canst not attend, as becomes one who follows her Majesty. 
Here you are called for, wished for, waited for — no man but 
you will serve the turn; and thither you come with a mis¬ 
begotten brat on thy horse’s neck, as if thou wert dry nurse 20 
to some sucking devil, and wert just returned from airing.” 

“ Why, what is the matter ? ” said Tressilian, letting go the 
boy, who sprung to ground like a feather, and himself dis¬ 
mounting at the same time. 

“Why, no one knows the matter,” replied Blount. “I 25 
cannot smell it out myself, though I have a nose like other 
courtiers. Only, my Lord of Leicester has galloped along 
the bridge, as if he would have rode over all in his passage, 
demanded an audience of the Queen, and is closeted even 
now with her and Burleigh and Walsingham; and you are 30 
called for; but whether the matter be treason or worse, no 
one knows.” 


447 




448 


KENILWORTH 


“ He speaks true, by Heaven ! ” said Raleigh, who that in¬ 
stant appeared; “ you must immediately to the Queen’s pres- /J 
ence.” 

“ Be not rash, Raleigh,” said Blount, “ remember his boots. J 
5 For Heaven’s sake go to my chamber, dear Tressilian, and 
don my new bloom-coloured silken hose; I have worn them v » 
but twice.” 

“ Pshaw! ” answered Tressilian; “ do thou take care of this N 
boy, Blount; be kind to him, and look he escapes you not — 
io much depends on him.” 

So saying, he followed Raleigh hastily, leaving honest 
Blount with the bridle of his horse in one hand and the boy 
in the other. 

Blount gave a long look after him. “Nobody,” he said, 
x5 “ calls me to these mysteries; and he leaves me here to play 
horse-keeper and child-keeper at once. I could excuse the 
one, for I love a good horse naturally; but to be plagued with 
a bratchet whelp! Whence come ye, my fair-favoured little 
gossip ?” 

20 “ From the Fens,° ” answered the boy. 

“And what didst thou learn there, forward imp?” 

“To catch gulls, with their webbed feet and yellow stock¬ 
ings,” said the boy. 

“ Umph ! ” said Blount, looking down on his own immense \ 
25 roses. “ Nay, then the devil take him asks thee more ques- I 
tions.” 

Meantime, Tressilian traversed the full length of the great 
hall, in which the astonished courtiers formed various groups, - 
and were whispering mysteriously together, while all kept 
30 their eyes fixed on the door which led from the upper end of 
the hall into the Queen’s withdrawing-apartment. Raleigh 
pointed to the door. Tressilian knocked, and was instantly j 
admitted. Many a neck was stretched to gain a view into ! 
the interior of the apartment; but the tapestry which cov- ! 
35 ered the door on the inside was dropped too suddenly to ad¬ 
mit the slightest gratification of curiosity. 

Upon entrance, Tressilian found himself, not without a ■ 
strong palpitation of heart, in the presence of Elizabeth, who ' 
was walking to and fro in a violent agitation, which she | 
40 seemed to scorn to conceal, while two or three of her most 
sage and confidential counsellors exchanged anxious looks 
with each other, but delayed speaking till her wrath had 
abated. Before the empty chair of state in which she had 









KENILWORTH 


449 


been seated, and which was half pushed aside by the violence 
with which she had started from it, knelt Leicester his arms 
crossed and his brows bent on the ground, still and motion¬ 
less as the effigies upon a sepulchre. Beside him stood the 
Lord Shrewsbury, then Earl Marshal of England, holding his c 
baton of office; the earl’s sword was unbuckled, and lav 
before him on the floor. 

“Ho, sir,’’ said the Queen, coming close up to Tressilian 
and stamping on the floor with the action and manner of 
Henry himself; “you knew of this fair work — you are an to 
accomplice in this deception which has been practised on us 
— you have been a main cause of our doing injustice ? ” 
Tressilian dropped on his knee before the Queen, his good 
sense showing him the risk of attempting any defence at that 
moment of irritation. “Art dumb, sirrah ? ” she continued * k 
“ thou know’st of this affair, dost thou not?” ' 

“Not, gracious madam, that this poor lady was Countess 
of Leicester.” 

“Nor shall any one know her for such,” said Elizabeth 
“ Death of my life! Countess of Leicester! I say Dame 2C 
Amy Dudley; and well if she have not cause to write her¬ 
self widow of the traitor Robert Dudley.” 

“Madam,” said Leicester, “ do with me what it may be 
your will to do, but work no injury on this gentleman; he 
hath in no way deserved it.” 2 - 

“And will he be the better for thy intercession,” said the 
Queen, leaving Tressilian, who slowly arose, and rushing to 
Leicester, who continued kneeling—“the better for thy 
intercession, thou doubly false—thou doubly forsworn — 
of thy intercession, whose villainy hath made me ridiculous 30 
to my subjects and odious to myself ? I could tear out mine 
eyes for their blindness !” 

Burleigh here ventured to interpose. 

“Madam,” he said, “ remember that you are a queen — 
Queen of England — mother of your people. Give not way 35 
to this wild storm of passion.” 

Elizabeth turned round to him, while a tear actually 
twinkled in her proud and angry eye. “ Burleigh,” she said, 
“thou art a statesman; and thou dost not, thou canst not, 
comprehend half the scorn, half the misery, that man has 40 
poured on me ! ” 

With the utmost caution, with the deepest reverence, Bur¬ 
leigh took her hand at the moment he saw her heart was at 
2 G 






KENILWORTH 


450 


the fullest, and led her aside to an oriel window, apart from 

the others. T . 

“Madam,” he said, “I am a statesman, but I am also a 
man — a m an already grown old in your councils, who have 
5 not, and cannot have, a wish on earth but your glory and 
happiness; I pray you to be composed. ,, 

“Ah, Burleigh,” said Elizabeth, “thou little knowest . 
-” here her tears fell over her cheeks in despite of her. 

“I do — I do know, my honoured sovereign. Oh, beware 
10 that you lead not others to guess that which they know not I” 

“ Ha !” said Elizabeth, pausing as if a new train of thought 
had suddenly shot across her brain. “Burleigh, thou art 
right— thou art right— anything but disgrace— anything 
but a confession of weakness — anything rather than seem 

iS the cheated—slighted- 'Sdeath! to think on it is 

distraction!” 

“Be but yourself, my Queen,” said Burleigh; and soar 
far above a weakness which no Englishman will ever believe 
his Elizabeth could have entertained, unless the violence of 
20 her disappointment carries a sad conviction to his bosom.” 

“What weakness, my lord?” said Elizabeth, haughtily; 
“would you too insinuate that the favour in which I held 

yonder proud traitor derived its source from aught-” 

But here she could no longer sustain the proud tone which 
25 she had assumed, and again softened as she said, “ But why 
should I strive to deceive even thee, my good and wise ser¬ 


vant ? ” 

Burleigh stooped to kiss her hand with affection, and — 
Tare in the annals of courts— a tear of true sympathy 
30 dropped from the eye of the minister on the hand of his 
sovereign. . 

It is probable that the consciousness of possessing this 
sympathy aided Elizabeth in supporting her mortification 
and suppressing her extreme resentment; but she was still j 
35 more moved by fear that her passion should betray to the j 
public the affront and the disappointment which, alike as & { 
woman and a queen, she was so anxious to conceal. SWe j 
turned from Burleigh, and sternly paced the hall till her i 
features had recovered their usual dignity and her mien its j 
40 wonted stateliness of regular motion. 

“Our sovereign is her noble self once more,” whispered l 
Burleigh to Walsingham; “mark what she does, and take| 
heed you thwart her not.” 






KENILWORTH 


451 


She then approached Leicester, and said, with calmness J 
“My Lord Shrewsbury, we discharge you of your prisoner.- 
| My Lord of Leicester, rise and take up your sword; a quarter 
of an hour’s restraint, under the custody of our marshal, my 
lord, is, we think, no high penance for months of falsehood 5 
practised upon us. We will now hear the progress of this 
affair.” She then seated herself in her chair, and said, “ You, 
Tressilian, step forward and say what you know.” 

Tressilian told his story generously, suppressing as much as 
' he could what affected Leicester, and saying nothing of their 10^ 
having twice actually fought together. It is very probable 
that, in doing so, he did the earl good service; for had the 
Queen at that instant found anything on account of which she 
might vent her wrath upon him, without laying open senti¬ 
ments of which she was ashamed, it might have fared hard 15 
with him. She paused when Tressilian had finished his tale. 

# “ We will take that Wayland,” she said, “into our own ser¬ 
vice, and place the boy in our secretary office for instruction, 
that he may in future use discretion towards letters. For 
you, Tressilian, you did wrong in not communicating the 20 
whole truth to us, and your promise not to do so was both im¬ 
prudent and undutiful. Yet, having given your word to this 
unhappy lady, it was the part of a man and a gentleman to 
keep it; and, on the whole, we esteem you for the character 
you have sustained in this matter. My Lord of Leicester, it 25 
is now your turn to tell us the truth, an exercise to which you 
seem of late to have been too much a stranger.” 

Accordingly, she extorted, by successive questions, the 
whole history of his first acquaintance with Amy Robsart — 
their marriage — his jealousy — the causes on which it was 30 
founded, and many particulars besides. Leicester’s confes¬ 
sion, for such it might be called, was wrenched from him 
piecemeal, yet was upon the whole accurate, excepting that 
he totally omitted to mention that he had, by implication or 
otherwise, assented to Varney’s designs upon the life of his 33 
hountess. Yet the consciousness of this was what at that 
moment lay nearest to his heart; and although he trusted in 
great measure to the very positive counter-orders which he 
had sent by Lambourne, it was his purpose to set out for 
Cumnor Place in person as soon as he should be dismissed 40 
from the presence of the Queen, who, he concluded, would 
presently leave Kenilworth. 

But the earl reckoned without his host. It is true, his 




452 


KENILWORTH 


presence and his communications were gall and wormwood to 
his once partial mistress. But, barred from every other and 
more direct mode of revenge, the Queen perceived that she 
gave her false suitor torture by these inquiries, and dwelt on I 
5 them for that reason, no more regarding the pain which she 
herself experienced than the savage cares for the searing of 
his own hands by grasping the hot pincers with which he 4 j 
tears the flesh of his captive enemy. 

At length, however, the haughty lord, like a deer that 
10 turns to bay, gave intimation that his patience was failing. 

“ Madam,” he said, “ I have been much to blame, more than 
even your just resentment has expressed. Yet, madam, let 
me say, that my guilt, if it be unpardonable, was not unpro¬ 
voked ; and that, if beauty and condescending dignity could 
is seduce the frail heart of a human being, I might plead both 
as the causes of my concealing this secret from your Majesty.” 

The Queen was so much struck by this reply, which Leices- ‘ 
ter took care should be heard by no one but herself, that she 
was for the moment silenced, and the earl had the temerity to 
20 pursue his advantage. “ Your Grace, who has pardoned so 
much, will excuse my throwing myself on your royal mercy 
for those expressions which were yester-morning accounted 
but a light offence.” 

The Queen fixed her eyes on him while she replied: “ Now, 

25 by Heaven, my lord, thy effrontery passes the bounds of be¬ 
lief as well as patience! But it shall avail thee nothing. 
What, ho ! my lords, come all and hear the news. My Lord 
of Leicester’s stolen marriage has cost me a husband and 
England a king. His lordship is patriarchal in his tastes: 

30 one wife at a time was insufficient, and he designed us the 
honour of his left hand. Now is not this too insolent — that 1 
I could not grace him with a few marks of court favour, but 
he must presume to think my hand and crown at his dis¬ 
posal? You, however, think better of me; and I can pity 
35 this ambitious man, as I could a child whose bubble of soap 
has burst between his hands. We go to the presence- 
chamber. My Lord of Leicester, we command your close 
attendance on us.” 

All was eager expectation in the hall, and what was the 
40 universal astonishment when the Queen said to those next 
her, “The revels of Kenilworth are not yet exhausted, my 
lords and ladies; we are to solemnise the noble owner’s 
marriage.” 








KENILWORTH 


453 


r 

There was an universal expression of surprise. 

“ It is true, on our royal word,” said the Queen; “ he hath 
| kept this a secret even from us, that he might surprise us with 
A it at this very place and time. I see you are dying of curi- 
|! osity to know the happy bride. It is Amy Robsart, the 5 
\ same who, to make up the May-game yesterday, figured in 

I the pageant as the wife of his servant Varney.” 

“For God's sake, madam,” said the earl, approaching her 
j] with a mixture of humility, vexation, and shame in his 
j countenance, and speaking so low as to be heard by no one 10 
else, “take my head, as you threatened in your anger, and 
spare me these taunts ! Urge not a falling man— tread not 
ji on a crushed worm.” 

“A worm, my lord!” said the Queen, in the same tone; 
j “ nay, a snake is the nobler reptile, and the more exact simili- 15 
tude —■ the frozen snake you wot of, which was warmed in a 
certain bosom-” 

“ For your own sake— for mine, madam,” said the earl — 

j “while there is yet some reason left in me-” 

“Speak aloud, my lord,” said Elizabeth, “and at farther 20 
|| distance, so please you; your breath thaws our ruff. What 

II have you to ask of us?” 

( “Permission,” said the unfortunate earl, humbly, “to 
travel to Cumnor Place.” 

“To fetch home your bride belike? Why, ay, that is but 25 
| right, for, as we have heard, she is indifferently cared for 
I there. But, my lord, you go not in person: we have counted 
I upon passing certain days in this castle of Kenilworth, and it 
were slight courtesy to leave us without a landlord during our 
I residence here. Under your favour, we cannot think to incur 30 
such disgrace in the eyes of our subjects. Tressilian shall go 
to Cumnor Place instead of you, and with him some gentle¬ 
man who hath been sworn of our chamber, lest my Lord of 
Leicester should be again jealous of his old rival. Whom 
wouldst thou have to be in commission with thee, Tres-35 
silian ? ” 

Tressilian, with humble deference, suggested the name of 
Raleigh. 

“Why, ay,” said the Queen; “so God ha' me, thou hast 
made a good choice. He is a young knight besides, and to 40 
deliver a lady from prison is an appropriate first adventure. 
Cumnor Place is little better than a prison, you are to know, 
my lords and ladies. Besides, there are certain faitours 








454 


KENILWORTH 


there whom we would willingly have in fast keeping. You 
will furnish them, Master Secretary, with the warrant neces¬ 
sary to secure the bodies of Richard Varney and the foreign 
Alasco, dead or alive. Take a sufficient force with you, If 
5 gentlemen; bring the lady here in all honour; lose no time, 
and God be with you ! ” 

They bowed, and left the presence. h 

Who shall describe how the rest of that day was spent at 1 
Kenilworth? The Queen, who seemed to have remained 
io there for the sole purpose of mortifying and taunting the Earl 
of Leicester, showed herself as skilful in that female art of 
vengeance as she was in the science of wisely governing her 
people. The train of state soon caught the signal, and, as he 
walked among his own splendid preparations, the Lord of 
15 Kenilworth, in his own castle, already experienced the lot of 1 
a disgraced courtier, in the slight regard and cold manners 1 
of alienated friends, and the ill-concealed triumph of avowed 
and open enemies. Sussex, from his natural military frank¬ 
ness of disposition, Burleigh and Walsingham, from their 
20 penetrating and prospective sagacity, and some of the ladies, 
from the compassion of their sex, were the only persons in the 
crowded court who retained towards him the countenance 
they had borne in the morning. 

So much had Leicester been accustomed to consider court 
25 favour as the principal object of his life, that all other sensa¬ 
tions were, for the time, lost in the agony which his haughty 
spirit felt at the succession of petty insults and studied 
neglects to which he had been subjected; but when he retired 
to his own chamber for the night, that long fair tress of hair 
30 which had once secured Amy’s letter fell under his obser¬ 
vation, and with the influence of a counter-charm, awakened 
his heart to nobler and more natural feelings. He kissed it 
a thousand times; and while he recollected that he had it 
always in his power to shun the mortifications which he had 
35 that day undergone, by retiring into a dignified and even 
prince-like seclusion with the beautiful and beloved partner 
of his future life, he felt that he could rise above the revenge 
which Elizabeth had condescended to take. 

Accordingly, on the following day, the whole conduct of ! 
4 ° the earl displayed so much dignified equanimity; he seemed 
so solicitous about the accommodations and amusements of 
his guests, yet so indifferent to their personal demeanour 
towards him; so respectfully distant to the Queen, yet so 









KENILWORTH 


455 


i patient of her harassing displeasure, that Elizabeth changed 
| her manner to him, and, though cold and distant, ceased to 
! offer him any direct affront. She intimated also, with some 
sharpness, to others around her, who thought they were 
consulting her pleasure in showing a neglectful conduct to the 5 
i earl, that, while they remained at Kenilworth, they ought to 
I show the civility due from guests to the lord of the castle. 

In short, matters were so far changed in twenty-four hours 
i that some of the more experienced and sagacious courtiers 
foresaw a strong possibility of Leicester’s restoration to 10 
favour, and regulated their demeanour toward him, as those 
! who might one day claim merit for not having deserted him 
I in adversity. It is time, however, to leave these intrigues, 

| and follow Tressilian and Raleigh on their journey. 

The troop consisted of six persons; for, besides Wayland, 15 
J they had in company a royal pursuivant and two stout serv- 
I ing men. All were armed, and travelled as fast as it was 
possible with justice to their horses, which had a long journey 
| before them. They endeavoured to procure some tidings as 
j they rode along of Varney and his party, but could hear none, 20 
as they had travelled in the dark. At a small village about 
twelve miles from Kenilworth, where they gave some refresh¬ 
ment to their horses, a poor clergyman, the curate of the 
place, came out of a small cottage, and entreated any of the 
company who might know aught of surgery to look in for an 25 
instant on a dying man. 

The empiric Wayland undertook to do his best, and as the 
curate conducted him to the spot, he learned that the man 
had been found on the highroad, about a mile from the 
village, by labourers, as they were going to their work on the 30 
preceding morning, and the curate had given him shelter in 
his house. He had received a gun-shot wound which seemed 
to be obviously mortal, but whether in a brawl or from rob¬ 
bers they could not learn, as he was in a fever, and spoke 
nothing connectedly. Wayland entered the dark and lowly 35 
apartment, and no sooner had the curate drawn aside the 
curtain than he knew in the distorted features of the patient 
the countenance of Michael Lambourne. Under pretence of 
seeking something which he wanted, Wayland hastily ap¬ 
prised his fellow-travellers of this extraordinary circum-40 
stance; and both Tressilian and Raleigh, full of boding ap¬ 
prehensions, hastened to the curate’s house to see the dying 
man. 







456 


KENILWORTH 


The wretch was by this time in the agonies of death, from 
which a much better surgeon than Wayland could not have 
secured him, for the bullet had passed clear through his body. 
He was sensible, however, at least in part, for he knew Tres- 
5 silian, and made signs that he wished him to stoop over his 
bed. Tressilian did so, and after some inarticulate murmurs, 
in which the names of Varney and Lady Leicester were alone 
distinguishable, Lambourne bade him “Make haste, or he 
would come too late.” It was in vain Tressilian urged the 
io patient for farther information; he seemed to become in 
some degree delirious, and when he again made a signal to 
attract Tressilian’s attention, it was only for the purpose of 
desiring him to inform his uncle, Giles Gosling of the Black 
Bear, “That he had died without his shoes after all.”° 
15 A convulsion verified his words a few minutes after, and the 
travellers derived nothing from having met with him save 
the obscure fears concerning the fate of the countess which 
his dying words were calculated to convey, and which in¬ 
duced them to urge their journey with the utmost speed, 
20 pressing horses in the Queen’s name, when those which they 
rode became unfit for service. 











CHAPTER XLI 


The death-bell thrice was heard to ring, 

An aerial voice was heard to call; 

And thrice the raven flapp’d its wing 
Around the towers of Cumnor Hall. 

Mickle. 

We are now to return to that part of our story where we in¬ 
timated that Varney, possessed of the authority of the Earl 
j of Leicester, and of the Queen’s permission to the same effect, 
hastened to secure himself against discovery of his perfidy by 
removing the countess from Kenilworth Castle. He had 5 
' proposed to set forth early in the morning; but reflecting 
: that the earl might relent in the interim, and seek another 
interview with the countess, he resolved to prevent, by im- 
jl mediate departure, all chance of what would probably have 
ended in his detection and ruin. For this purpose he called 10 
for Lambourne, and was exceedingly incensed to find that his 
trusty attendant was abroad on some ramble in the neigh¬ 
bouring village or elsewhere. As his return was expected, 
Sir Richard commanded that he should prepare himself for 
attending him on an immediate journey, and follow him in 15 
case he returned after his departure. 

In the mean while, Varney used the ministry of a servant 
called Robin Tider, one to whom the mysteries of Cumnor 
Place were already in some degree known, as he had been 
there more than once in attendance on the earl. To this 20 
man, whose character resembled that of Lambourne, though 
he was neither quite so prompt nor altogether so profligate, 
Varney gave command to have three horses saddled and to 
prepare a horse-litter and have them in readiness at the pos¬ 
tern gate. The natural enough excuse of his lady’s insanity, 25 
which was now universally believed, accounted for the secrecy 
with which she was to be removed from the castle, and he 
reckoned on the same apology in case the unfortunate Amy’s 
resistance or screams should render such necessary. The 
agency of Anthony Foster was indispensable, and that Var- 30 
ney now went to secure. 


457 







458 


KENILWORTH 


This person, naturally of a sour, unsocial disposition, and 
somewhat tired, besides, with his journey from Cumnor to 
Warwickshire in order to bring the news of the countess’s 
escape, had early extricated himself from the crowd of was- 
5 sailers, and betaken himself to his chamber, where he lay 
asleep, when Varney, completely equipped for travelling, 
and with a dark lantern in his hand, entered his apartment. 

He paused an instant to listen to what his associate was 
murmuring in his sleep, and could plainly distinguish the 
io words, “ Ave Maria ora pro nobis ; 0 no—it runs not so. 
Deliver us from evil — ay, so it goes.” 

“ Praying in his sleep,” said Varney, “ and confounding his 
old and new devotions. He must have more need of prayer 
ere I am done with him. What ho! holy man—most 
15 blessed penitent! Awake — awake ! The devil has not 
discharged you from service yet.” 

As Varney at the same time shook the sleeper by the arm, 
it changed the current of his ideas, and he roared out, 

“ Thieves ! — thieves ! I will die in defence of my gold — 

20 my hard-won gold, that has cost me so dear. Where is 
Janet? Is Janet safe?” 

“Safe enough, thou bellowing fool!” said Varney; “art 
thou not ashamed of thy, clamour ? ” 

Foster by this time was broad awake, and, sitting up in his 
25 bed, asked Varney the meaning of so untimely a visit. “ It I 
augurs nothing good,” he added. 

“A false prophecy, most sainted Anthony,” returned Var¬ 
ney: “it augurs that the hour is come for converting thy 
leasehold into copyhold. What say’st thou to that? ” 

30 “Hadst thou told me this in broad day,” said Foster, “I ! 
had rejoiced; but at this dead hour, and by this dim light, 
and I looking on thy pale face, which is a ghastly contradic¬ 
tion to thy light words, I cannot but rather think of the work j 
that is to be done than the guerdon to be gained by it.” 

35 “Why, thou fool, it is but to escort thy charge back to 
Cumnor Place.” 

“Is that indeed all?” said Foster; “thou look’st deadly 
pale, and thou art not moved by trifles— is that indeed all ?” 

“Ay, that— and maybe a trifle more,” answered Varney. 

40 “Ah, that trifle more!” said Foster; “still thou look’st 
paler and paler.” 

“ Heed not my countenance,” said Varney, “you see it by 
this wretched light. Up and be doing, man. Think of 








KENILWORTH 


459 


Cumnor Place, thine own proper copyhold. Why, thou 
mayest found a weekly lectureship, besides endowing Janet 
like a baron’s daughter. Seventy pounds and odd.” 

“ Seventy-nine pounds, five shillings, and fivepence half¬ 
penny, besides the value of the wood,” said Foster; “and I 5 
am to have it all as copyhold ? ” 

“ All, man — squirrels and all: no gipsy shall cut the 
value of a broom, no boy so much as take a bird’s nest with¬ 
out paying thee a quittance. Ay, that is right— don thy 
matters as fast as possible; horses and everything are ready, 10 
all save that accursed villain Lambourne, who is out on some 
infernal gambol.” 

“Ay, Sir Richard,” said Foster, “you would take no ad¬ 
vice. I ever told you that drunken profligate would fail 
you at need. Now, I could have helped you to a sober young 15 

m “ I What, some slow-spoken, long-breathed brother of the 
congregation? Why, we shall have use for such also, man. 
Heaven be praised, we shall lack labourers of every kind. 
Ay, that is right— forget not your pistols. Come now, and 20 
let us away.” 

“Whither?” said Anthony. 

“To my lady’s chamber, and, mind, she must along with 

us. Thou art not a fellow to be startled by a shriek?” 

“ Not if Scripture reason can be rendered for it; and it is 25 
written, 1 Wives, obey your husbands.’ But will my lord s 
commands bear us out if we use violence?” 

“Tush, man! here is his signet,” answered Varney; and 
having thus silenced the objections of his associate, they 
went together to Lord Hunsdon’s apartments, and, ac-30 
quainting the sentinel with their purpose, as a matter sanc¬ 
tioned by the Queen and the Earl of Leicester, they entered 
the chamber of the unfortunate countess. 

The horror of Amy may be conceived when, starting from 
a broken slumber, she saw at her bedside Varney, the man on 3S 
earth she most feared and hated. It was even a consolation 
to see that he was not alone, though she had so much reason 
to dread his sullen companion. 

“ Madam,” said Varney, “ there is no time for ceremony. 
My Lord of Leicester, having fully considered the exigencies 40 
of the time, sends you his orders immediately to accompany 
us on our return to Cumnor Place. See, here is his signet, m 
token of his instant and pressing commands. 






460 


KENILWORTH 




“It is false!” said the countess; “thou hast stolen the 
warrant—thou, who art capable of every villainy, from the 
blackest to the basest!” 

“It is true, madam,” replied Varney; “so true, that if 
5 you do not instantly arise and prepare to attend us, we must 
compel you to obey our orders.” 

“ Compel! thou darest not put it to that issue, base as thou 
art,” exclaimed the unhappy countess. 

“That remains to be proved, madam,” said Varney, who 
io had determined on intimidation as the only means of sub¬ 
duing her high spirit; “if you put me to it, you will find me 
a rough groom of the chamber.” 

It was at this threat that Amy screamed so fearfully that, 
had it not been for the received opinion of her insanity, she 
15 would quickly have had Lord Hunsdon and others to her aid. 
Perceiving, however, that her cries were vain, she appealed 
to Foster in the most affecting terms, conjuring him, as his 
daughter Janet’s honour and purity was dear to him, not to 
permit her to be treated with unwomanly violence. 

20 “ Why, madam, wives must obey their husbands —there’s 

Scripture warrant for it,” said Foster; “ and if you will dress 
yourself and come with us patiently, there’s no one shall lay 
finger on you while I can draw a pistol-trigger.” 

Seeing no help arrive, and comforted even by the dogged 
25 language of Foster, the countess promised to arise and dress 
herself, if they would agree to retire from the room. Varney 
at the same time assured her of all safety and honour while 
in their hands, and promised that he himself would not 
approach her, since his presence was so displeasing. Her 
30 husband, he added, would be at Cumnor Place within twenty- 
four hours after they had reached it. 

Somewhat comforted by this assurance, upon which, how¬ 
ever, she saw little reason to rely, the unhappy Amy made 
her toilette by the assistance of the lantern, which they left 
35 with her when they quitted the apartment. 

Weeping, trembling, and praying, the unfortunate lady 
dressed herself—with sensations how different from the 
days in which she was wont to decorate herself in all the 
pride of conscious beauty! She endeavoured to delay the 
40 completing her dress as long as she could, until, terrified by 
the impatience of Varney, she was obliged to declare herself 
ready to attend them. 

When they were about to move, the countess clung to 






KENILWORTH 


461 


Foster with such an appearance of terror at Varney’s ap- 
1 proach, that the latter protested to her, with a deep oath, 

I that he had no intention whatever of even coming near her. 

I “If you do but consent to execute your husband’s will in 
j quietness, you shall,” he said, “see but little of me. I will 5 
leave you undisturbed to the care of the usher whom your 
I good taste prefers.” 

' “ My husband’s will!” she exclaimed. “ But it is the will 

i of God, and let that be sufficient to me. I will go with Mas- 
‘ ter Foster as unresistingly as ever did a literal sacrifice. He 10 
is a father at least, and will have decency if not humanity. 
For thee, Varney, were it my latest word, thou art an equal 
stranger to both.” 

Varney replied only, she was at liberty to choose, and 
j walked some paces before them to show the way; while, half- 15 
leaning on Foster and half-carried by him, the countess was 
transported from Saintlowe’s Tower to the postern gate, 
where Tider waited with the litter and horses. 

The countess was placed in the former without resistance. 
She saw with some satisfaction that, while Foster and Tider 20 
rode close by the litter, which the latter conducted, the 
dreaded Varney lingered behind, and was soon lost in dark¬ 
ness. A little while she strove, as the road winded round the 
verge of the lake, to keep sight of those stately towers which 
called her husband lord, and which still, in some places, 25 
sparkled with lights, where wassailers were yet revelling. • 
But when the direction of the road rendered this no 
longer possible, she drew back her head, and, sinking 
down in the litter, recommended herself to the care of 
Providence. 3 ° 

Besides the desire of inducing the countess to proceed 
quietly on her journey, Varney had it also in view to have an 
interview with Lambourne, by whom he every moment ex¬ 
pected to be joined, without the presence of any witnesses. 
He knew the character of this man — prompt, bloody, 35 
resolute, and greedy— and judged him the most fit agent he 
could employ in his farther designs. But ten miles of their 
journey had been measured ere he heard the hasty clatter of 
horse’s hoofs behind him, and was overtaken by Michael 

Lambourne. . 40 

Fretted as he was with his absence, Varney received his 
profligate servant with a rebuke of unusual bitterness. 
“Drunken villain,” he said, “thy idleness and debauched 




462 


KENILWORTH 


folly will stretch a halter ere it be long; and, for me, I care 
not how soon!” 

This style of objurgation, Lambourne, who was elated to 
an unusual degree, not only by an extraordinary cup of wine, 

5 but by the sort of confidential interview he had just had with 
the earl, and the secret of which he had made himself master, 
did not receive with his wonted humility. “ He would take 
no insolence of language,” he said, “from the best knight 
that ever wore spurs. Lord Leicester had detained him on 
io some business of import, and that was enough for Varney, 
who was but a servant like himself/ ’ 

Varney was not a little surprised at his unusual tone of in¬ 
solence, but ascribing it to liquor, suffered it to pass as if un¬ 
noticed, and then began to tamper with Lambourne touching 
15 his willingness to aid in removing out of the Earl of Leices¬ 
ter’s way an obstacle to a rise which would put it in his 
power to reward his trusty followers to their utmost wish. 
And upon Michael Lambourne’s seeming ignorant what was 
meant, he plainly indicated “ the litter-load, yonder,” as the 
20 impediment which he desired should be removed. 

“Look you, Sir Richard, and so forth,” said Michael, 
“some are wiser than some, that is one thing, and some are 
worse than some, that’s another. I know my lord’s mind on 
this matter better than thou, for he hath trusted me fully in 
25 the matter. Here are his mandates, and his last words 
were, ‘ Michael Lambourne ’ — for his lordship speaks to me 
as a gentleman of the sword, and useth not the words 
‘ drunken villain,’ or such-like phrases of those who know not 
how to bear new dignities — ‘Varney,’ says he, ‘must pay 
30 the utmost respect to my countess. I trust to you for 
looking to it, Lambourne,’ says his lordship, ‘and you must 
bring back my signet from him peremptorily.’ ” 

“Ay,” replied Varney, “said he so, indeed? You know 
all, then?” 

35 “All — all, and you were as wise to make a friend of me 
while the weather is fair betwixt us.” 

“And was there no one present,” said Varney, “when my 
lord so spoke?” 

“ Not a breathing creature,” replied Lambourne. “Think j 
40 you my lord would trust any one with such matters save an j 
approved man of action like myself.” 

“ Most true,” said Varney; and, making a pause, he looked j 
forward on the moonlight road. They were traversing a 




KENILWORTH 


463 


wide and open heath. The litter, being at least a mile 
before them, was both out of sight and hearing. He looked 
behind and there was an expanse, lighted by the moon¬ 
beams, without one human being in sight. He resumed his 
speech to Lambourne: “ And will you turn upon your 5 

master, who has introduced you to this career of court-like 
favour—whose apprentice you have been, Michael — who 
has taught you the depths and shallows of court intrigue ?” 

“Michael not me!” said Lambourne; “I have a name 
will brook a master before it as well as another; and as to the 10 
rest, if I have been an apprentice, my indenture is out, and 
I am resolute to set up for myself.” 

“Take thy quittance first, thou fool!” said Varney; and 
with a pistol which he had for some time held in his hand, 
shot Lambourne through the body. 15 

The wretch fell from his horse without a single groan; and 
Varney, dismounting, rifled his pockets, turning out the 
lining, that it might appear he had fallen by robbers. He 
secured the earl’s packet, which was his chief object, but he 
also took Lambourne’s purse, containing some gold pieces, 20 
the relics of what his debauchery had left him, and, from a 
singular combination of feelings, carried it in his hand only 
the length of a small river which crossed the road, into which 
he threw it as far as he could fling. Such are the strange 
remnants of conscience which remain after she seems 25 
totally subdued, that this cruel and remorseless man would 
have felt himself degraded had he pocketed the few pieces 
belonging to the wretch whom he had thus ruthlessly slain. 

The murderer reloaded his pistol, after cleansing the lock 
and barrel from the appearances of late explosion, and rode 30 
calmly after the litter, satisfying himself that he had so 
adroitly removed a troublesome witness to many of his in¬ 
trigues, and the bearer of mandates which he had no inten¬ 
tions to obey, and which, therefore, he was desirous it should 
be thought had never reached his hand. 35 

The remainder of the journey was made with a degree of 
speed which showed the little care they had for the health of 
the unhappy countess. They paused only at places where 
all was under their command, and where the tale they were 
prepared to tell of the insane Lady Varney would have 40 
obtained ready credit had she made an attempt to appeal to 
the compassion of the few persons admitted to see her. 
But Amy saw no chance of obtaining a hearing from any to 









464 


KENILWORTH 


whom she had an opportunity of addressing herself, and, ; 
besides, was too terrified for the presence of Varney to violate 
the implied condition under which she was to travel free 
from his company. The authority of Varney, often so 
5 used during the earl's private journeys to Cumnor, readily 
procured relays of horses where wanted, so that they ap¬ 
proached Cumnor Place upon the night after they left 
Kenilworth. 

At this period of the journey, Varney came up to the rear 
io of the litter, as he had done before repeatedly during their 
progress, and asked, “What does she?" 

“She sleeps," said Foster. “I would we were home; her 
strength is exhausted." 

“Rest will restore her," answered Varney. “She shall 
15 soon sleep sound and long; we must consider how to lodge 
her in safety." 

“In her own apartments, to be sure," said Foster. “I have ; 
sent Janet to her aunts, with a proper rebuke, and the old j 
women are truth itself, for they hate this lady cordially." 

20 “We will not trust them, however, friend Anthony," said 
Varney; “we must secure her in that stronghold where you 
keep your gold." 

“My gold!" said Anthony, much alarmed; “why, what 
gold have I ? God help me, I have no gold — I would I 
25 had." _ | 

“ Now, marry hang thee, thou stupid brute; who thinks of, j 
or cares for, thy gold ? If I did, could I not find an hundred j 
better ways to come at it ? In one word, thy bedchamber, \ 
which thou hast fenced so curiously, must be her place of < 
30seclusion; and thou, thou hind, shalt press her pillows, of j 
down. I dare to say the earl will never ask after the rich 
furniture of these four rooms." 

This last consideration rendered Foster tractable; he only 
asked permission to ride before, to make matters ready, and, ' 
35 spurring his horse, he posted before the litter, while, Varney • 
falling about threescore paces behind it, it remained only i 
attended by Tider. 

When they had arrived at Cumnor Place, the countess ; 
asked eagerly for Janet, and showed much alarm when j 
40 informed that she was no longer to have the attendance of i- 
that amiable girl. 

“My daughter is dear to me, madam," said Foster, i 
gruffly; “and I desire not that she should get the court | 







KENILWORTH 


465 


tricks of lying and ’scaping; somewhat too much of that has 
she learned already, an it please your ladyship.” 

The countess, much fatigued and greatly terrified by the 
circumstances of her journey, made no answer to this 
insolence, but mildly expressed a wish to retire to hers 
chamber. • 

“Ay — ay,” muttered Foster, “’tis but reasonable, but 
under favour, you go not to your gew-gaw toy-house yonder; 
you will sleep to-night in better security.” 

“I would it were in my grave,” said the countess, “butio 
that mortal feelings shiver at the idea of soul and body 
parting.” 

“You, I guess, have no chance to shiver at that,” replied 
Foster. “My lord comes hither to-morrow, and doubtless 
you will make your own ways good with him.” 15 

“ But does he come hither ? — does he indeed, good 
Foster?” 

“Oh ay, good Foster!” replied the other. “But what 
Foster shall I be to-morrow, when you speak of me to my 
lord; though all I have done was to obey his own orders?” 20 

“You shall be my protector — a rough one indeed, but 
still a protector,” answered the countess. “Oh, that Janet 
were but here! ” 

“ She is better where she is,” answered Foster, “ one of you 
is enough to perplex a plain head; but will you taste any 25 
refreshment?” 

“ Oh no — no; my chamber—my chamber.. I trust,” she 
said, apprehensively, “I may secure it on the inside?” 

“With all my heart,” answered Foster, “so I may secure 
it on the outside;” and taking a light, he led the way to a3° 
part of the building where Amy had never been, and con¬ 
ducted her up a stair of great height, preceded by one of the 
old women with a lamp. At the head of the stair, which 
seemed of almost immeasurable height, they crossed a short 
wooden gallery, formed of black oak, and very narrow, at the 35 
farther end of which was a strong oaken door, which opened 
and admitted them into the miser’s apartment, homely in its 
accommodations in the very last degree, and, except in 
name, little different from a prison room. 

Foster stopped at the door and gave the lamp to the count- 40 
ess, without either offering or permitting the attendance of 
the old woman who had carried it. The lady stood not on f 
ceremony, but taking it hastily, barred the door, and secured 

2 H 







466 


KENILWORTH 




it with the ample means provided on the inside for that :i K 
purpose. 

Varney, meanwhile, had lurked behind on the stairs, but H 
hearing the door barred, he now came up on tiptoe, and Fos- j 
5 ter, winking to him, pointed with self-complacence to a 
piece of concealed machineryiin the wall, which, playing with M 
much ease and little noise, dropped a part of the wooden _’| 
gallery, after the manner of a drawbridge, so as to cut off \\ 
all communication between the door of the bedroom, which 
iohe usually inhabited, and the landing-place of the high 
winding stair which ascended to it. The rope by which this 
machinery was wrought was generally carried within the bed- | 
chamber, it being Foster’s object to provide against invasion ! 
from without; but now that it was intended to secure the 
15 prisoner within, the cord had been brought over to the land- : 
ing-place, and was there made fast, when Foster, with much j 
complacency, had dropped the unsuspected trap-door. 

Varney looked with great attention at the machinery, and 
peeped more than once down the abyss which was opened by 
20 the fall of the trap-door. It was dark as pitch, and seemed j| 
profoundly deep, going, as Foster informed his confederate in |l 
a whisper, nigh to the lowest vault of the castle. Varney i 
cast once more a fixed and long look down into this sable 
gulf, and then followed Foster to the part of the manor- I 
25 house most usually inhabited. 

When they arrived in the parlour which we have mentioned • 
Varney requested Foster to get them supper and some of the 
choicest wine. “I will seek Alasco,” he added; “we have 
work for him to do, and we must put him in good heart.” 

30 Foster groaned at this intimation, but made no remon- : 
strance. The old woman assured Varney that Alasco had 
scarce eaten or drunken since her master’s departure, living 
perpetually shut up in the laboratory, and talking as if the ! 
world’s continuance depended on what he was doing there. 

35 “ I will teach him that the world hath other claims on him,” j 

said Varney, seizing a light and going in quest of the alche- ? 
mist. He returned, after a considerable absence, very pale, 
but yet with his habitual sneer on his cheek and nostril. 
“Our friend,” he said, “has exhaled.” 

40 “How! what mean you?” said Foster. “Run away — 
fled with my forty pounds, that should have been multiplied ij 
a thousandfold ? I will have hue and cry! ” 

“I will tell thee a surer way,” said Varney. 







KENILWORTH 


467 


“How! which way?” exclaimed Foster. “I will have 
back my forty pounds — I deemed them as surely a thou- 
r sand times multiplied—I will have back my in-put, at the 
least.” 

“Go hang thyself, then, and sue Alasco in the Devil’s5 

I Court of Chancery, for thither he has carried the cause.” 

“ How! what dost thou mean — is he dead ? ” 

“Ay, truly is he,” said Varney; “and properly swoln al¬ 
ready in the face and body. He had been mixing some of 
his devil’s medicines, and the glass mask which he used con- 10 
stantly had fallen from his face, so that the subtle poison 
entered the brain and did its work.” 

“ Sancta Maria!” said Foster—“I mean, God in His 
mercy preserve us from covetousness and deadly sin! Had 
he not had projection, think you ? Saw you no ingots in the 15 
crucibles?” 

“Nay, I looked not but at the dead carrion,” answered 
Varney — “an ugly spectacle: he was swoln like a corpse 
three days exposed on the wheel. Pah! give me a cup of 
wine.” 20 

“I will go,” said Foster, “I will examine myself-” 

He took the lamp and hastened to the door, but there hesi¬ 
tated and paused. “Will you not go with me?” said he to 
Varney. 

“To what purpose?” said Varney; “I have seen and 25 
smelled enough to spoil my appetite. I broke the window, 
however, and let in the air; it reeked of sulphur and such- 
1 like suffocating steams, as if the very devil had been there.” 
“And might it not be the act of the demon himself?” said 
Foster, still hesitating; “ I have heard he is powerful at such 30 
times, and with such people.” 

“Still, if it were that Satan of thine,” answered Varney, 
“who thus jades thy imagination, thou art in perfect safety, 
unless he is a most unconscionable devil indeed. He hath 
jj had two good sops of late.” 35 

“ How, two sops—what mean you ?” said Foster— what 
mean you?” 

“You will know in time,” said Varney. “And then this 
other banquet; but thou wilt esteem her too choice a morsel 
for the fiend’s tooth : she must have her psalms, and harps, 40 
and seraphs.” 

Anthony Foster heard, and came slowly back to the table * 

“ God ! Sir Richard, and must that then be done ? ” 








468 


KENILWORTH 


“Ay, in very truth, Anthony, or there comes no copyhold 
in thy way,” replied his inflexible associate. 

“ I always foresaw it would land there ! ” said Foster; “ but Rj 
how, Sir Richard — how ? for not to win the world would I 
5 put hands on her.” 

“I cannot blame thee,” said Varney: “I should be re- A 
luctant to do that myself; we miss Alasco and his manna 
sorely — ay, and the dog Lambourne.” 

“Why, where tarries Lambourne?” said Anthony, 
io “Ask no questions,” said Varney, “thou wilt see him one 
day, if thy creed is true. But to our graver matter. I will 
teach thee a springe, Tony, to catch a pewit; yonder trap¬ 
door — yonder gimcrack of thine, will remain secure in 
appearance, will it not, though the supports are withdrawn 
15 beneath ? ” 

“Ay, marry, will it,” said Foster; “so long as it is not 
trodden on.” 

“ But were the lady to attempt an escape over it,” replied 
Varney, “her weight would carry it down?” 

20 “A mouse’s weight would do it,” said Foster. 

“Why, then, she dies in attempting her escape, and what 
could you or I help it, honest Tony ? Let us to bed; we will 
adjust our project to-morrow.” 

On the next day, when evening approached, Varney sum- 
25 moned Foster to the execution of their plan. TiderandFos- j 
ter’s old man-servant were sent on a feigned errand down to 
the village, and Anthony himself, as if anxious to see that 
the countess suffered no want of accommodation, visited her 
place of confinement. He was so much staggered at the 
30 mildness and patience with which she seemed to endure her | 
confinement that he could not help earnestly recommending 
to her not to cross the threshold of her room on any account 
whatever until Lord Leicester should come, “Which,” he 
added, “ I trust in God, will be very soon.” Amy patiently 
35 promised that she would resign herself to her fate, and Foster 
returned to his hardened companion with his conscience 
half-eased of the perilous load that weighed on it. “I 
have warned her,” he said; “ surely in vain is the snare set in 
the sight of any bird! ’ ’ 

40 He left, therefore, the countess’s door unsecured on the 
outside, and, under the eye of Varney, withdrew the sup¬ 
ports which sustained the falling trap, which, therefore, kept 
its level position merely by a slight adhesion. They with- 






KENILWORTH 


4t>y 


i 




drew to wait the issue on the ground-floor adjoining, but 
they waited long in vain. At length Varney, after walking 
long to and fro, with his face muffled in his cloak, threw it 
suddenly back, and exclaimed, “Surely never was a woman 
fool enough to neglect so fair an opportunity of escape! ” 5 

“ Perhaps she is resolved,” said Foster, “ to await her hus¬ 
band’s return.” . 

“True! — most true,” said Varney, rushing out, I had 
not thought of that before.” 

In less than two minutes Foster, who remained behind, 10 
heard the tread of a horse in the courtyard, and then a 
whistle similar to that which was the earl’s usual signal; the 
instant after the door of the countess’s chamber opened, and 
in the same moment the trap-door gave way. There was a 
rushing sound — a heavy fall — a faint groan and all 15 


was over. 

At the same instant, Varney called in at the window, m an 
accent and tone which was an indescribable mixture betwixt 
horror and raillery: “Is the bird caught? —is the deed 


done?” 

“O God, forgive us!” replied Anthony Foster. 

“Why, thou fool,” said Varney, “thy toil is ended, and 
thy reward secure. Look down into the vault what seest 

thou?” , , ,, 

“I see only a heap of white clothes, like a snowdrift, 25 
said Foster. “ O' God, she moves her arm ! ” 

“Hurl something down on her — thy gold chest, lony — 
it is an heavy one.” 

“Varney, thou art an incarnate fiend! replied Foster. 
“There needs nothing more — she is gone! ” 3 ° 

“So pass our troubles,” said Varney, entering the room. 

“I dreamed not I could have mimicked the earl’s call so 

“Oh, if there be judgment in Heaven, thou hast deserved 
it ” said Foster, “ and wilt meet it! Thou hast destroyed 35 
her by means of her best affections. It is a seething of 
the kid in the mother’s milk! ” 

“ Thou art a fanatical ass, ” replied Varney. Let us now 

think how the alarm should be given; the body is to remain 

where it is.” , . r 40 

But their wickedness was to be permitted no longer; tor, 
even while they were at this consultation, Tressilian and 
Raleigh broke in upon them, having obtained admittance by 






470 


KENILWORTH 


means of Tider and Foster’s servant, whom they had secured 
at the village. 

Anthony Foster fled on their entrance; and, knowing each 
corner and pass of the intricate old house, escaped all search. 

5 But Varney was taken on the spot; and, instead of express¬ 
ing compunction for what he had done, seemed to take a 
fiendish pleasure in pointing out to them the remains of the 
murdered countess, while at the same time he defied them 
to show that he had any share in her death. The despairing 
io grief of Tressilian on viewing the mangled and yet warm 
remains of what had lately been so lovely and so beloved, 
was such that Raleigh was compelled to have him removed 
from the place by force, while he himself assumed the direc¬ 
tion of what was to be done. 

15 Varney, upon a second examination, made very little mys¬ 
tery either of the crime or of its motives; alleging, as a 
reason for his frankness, that though much of what he con¬ 
fessed could only have attached to him by suspicion, yet 
such suspicion would have been sufficient to deprive him of 
20 Leicester’s confidence, and to destroy all his towering plans 
of ambition. “I was not born,” he said, “to drag on the 
remainder of life a degraded outcast; nor will I so die that 
my fate shall make a holiday to the vulgar herd.” 

From these words it was apprehended he had some design 
25 upon himself, and he was carefully deprived of all means by 
which such could be carried into execution.* But, like some 
of the heroes of antiquity, he carried about his person a 
small quantity of strong poison, prepared probably by the 
celebrated Demetrius Alasco. Having swallowed this potion 
30 over-night he was found next morning dead in his cell; nor ! 
did he appear to have suffered much agony, his countenance 
presenting, even in death, the habitual expression of sneering 
sarcasm, which was predominant while he lived. “The 
wicked man,” saith Scripture, “hath no bands in his 
35 death.” 0 

The fate of his colleague in wickedness was long unknown. 
Cumnor Place was deserted immediately after the murder; 
for, in the vicinity of what was called the Lady Dudley’s 
chamber the domestics pretended to hear groans, and 
40 screams, and other supernatural noises. After a certain 
length of time, Janet, hearing no tidings of her father, 
became the uncontrolled mistress of his property, and con¬ 
ferred it with her hand upon Wayland, now a man of settled 





KENILWORTH 


471 


character, and holding a place in Elizabeth’s household. 
But it was after they had been both dead for some years, that 
their eldest son and heir, in making some researches about 
Cumnor Hall, discovered a secret passage, closed by an 
iron door, which, opening from behind the bed in the Lady 5 
Dudley’s chamber, descended to a sort of cell, in which they 
found an iron chest containing a quantity of gold, and a 
human skeleton stretched above it. The fate of Anthony 
Foster was now manifest. He had fled to this place of 
concealment, forgetting the key of the spring-lock; and 10 
being barred from escape by the means he had used for 
preservation of that gold for which he had sold his salva¬ 
tion, he had there perished miserably. Unquestionably the 
groans and screams heard by the domestics were not entirely 
imaginary, but were those of this wretch, who, in his agony, 15 
was crying for relief and succour. 

The news of the countess’s dreadful fate put a sudden 
period to the pleasures of Kenilworth. Leicester retired 
from court, and for a considerable time abandoned himself 
to his remorse. But as Varney, in his last declaration, had 20 
been studious to spare the character of his patron, the earl 
was the object rather of compassion than resentment. The 
Queen at length recalled him to court; he was once more 
distinguished as a statesman and favourite, and the rest of 
his career is well known to history. But there was some-25 
thing retributive in his death, 0 if, according to an account 
very generally received, it took place from his swallowing a 
draught of poison which was designed by him for another 
person. 

Sir Hugh Robsart died very soon after his daughter, 30 
having settled his estate on Tressilian. But neither the 
prospect of rural independence nor the promises of favour 
which Elizabeth held out to induce him to follow the court, 
could remove his profound melancholy. Wherever he went, 
he seemed to see before him the disfigured corpse of the early 35 
and only object of his affection. At length, having made 
provision for the maintenance of the old friends and old 
servants who formed Sir Hugh’s family at Lidcote Hall, 
he himself embarked with his friend Raleigh for the Virginia 
expedition, and, young in years but old in grief, died before 40 
his day in that foreign land. 

Of inferior persons it is only necessary to say, that Blount’s 
wit grew brighter as his yellow roses faded : that, doing his 



472 


KENILWORTH 


part as a brave commander in the wars he was much more in 
his element than during the short period of his following the 
court; and that Flibbertigibbet’s acute genius raised him to 
favour and distinction in the employment both of Burleigh 
5 and Cecil. 




NOTES 


i : 15. During the eighteenth of Queen Elizabeth. This 

fixes the time of Kenilworth as 1575 , Queen Elizabeth ascend¬ 
ing the throne in 1558 . The date is corroborated by Leicester’s 
letter to Varney, page 427 . 

1 : 21 . Harry Baillie of the Tabard. Harry Baillie was the 
landlord of the Tabard Inn in Southwark, London, at the time 
Chaucer made it famous by using it as the meeting place of his 
Canterbury Pilgrims. (See Prologue to the Canterbury Tales , • 
lines 19 - 29 .) It took its name from its sign, a tabard, or 
herald’s jacket. 

2 : 32 . Canaries. A celebrated wine made in the Canary 
Islands off the northwestern coast of Africa. 

2 : 41 . Field of Mars . . . followers of Minerva. Mars was 
the Roman god of war ; Minerva, the goddess of wisdom. 
(See classical dictionary.) 

3 : 30 . Low Countries. A name frequently applied in the 
past to Holland or the Netherlands. 

3 : 38 . Three Cranes, in the Vintry. A famous tavern in 
Upper Thames Street, London. 

3 : 39 . Sheres. A town near Cadiz, southwestern Spain, 
noted for sherry wine. 

4 : 8. Groyne. The old name for Corunna, a city in north¬ 
western Spain. Port St. Mary’s, a small seaport in south¬ 
western Spain. 

4 : 25 . Siege of the Brill. Brill, or Briel, a seaport in south¬ 
western Holland captured from the Spaniards in 1572 by the 
“ Water Beggars.” 

5 : 2 . Siege of Venlo. Venlo, or Venloo, a town in southern 
Holland, unsuccessfully besieged by the Spaniards in 1578 . 
Grave Maurice. Count Maurice of Nassau ( 1567 - 1625 ), son 

473 






474 


NOTES 


and successor of William of Orange. His campaigns against 
the Spaniards, which resulted in their expulsion from Holland, 
mark him as one of the ablest generals of his time. 

5 : 32 . Maestricht. A town in southern Holland, captured 
and sacked by the Spaniards in 1579 . 

7 : 27 . Eldorado. A country rich beyond all comparison in 
gold and jewels which the early Spanish explorers believed ex¬ 
isted in the New World. The name is now applied to any 
region said to abound in wealth. 

8 : 17. Lombard Street. A street in London where in early 
times many goldsmiths carried on their business and which has 
since become a noted banking centre. 

8 : 39 . Morior — mortuus sum vel fui — mori. I die, I have 
died, to die. 

9:6. Voto a Dios. A Spanish oath of menace. 

9 : 11 . Under the rose. A translation of the Latin phrase, 
sub rosa , meaning, in secret, privately. Among the ancients 
the rose was the symbol of secrecy ; when hung up at a gather¬ 
ing of any kind, it was a token that nothing said or done there 
was to be divulged. 

9 : 35 . Pays his shot. Pays his bills or expenses. 

11 : 34 . Like the devil looking over Lincoln. An expression 
perhaps referring to one of the following: a figure of the devil 

on the top of Lincoln College, Oxford ; a gargoyle, shaped like J 
a diabolic figure on a witch’s back, near the south porch of the 
cathedral at Lincoln ; or a figure of Satan at the east end of the 
south chapel of the nave of the same building. 

12 : 15 . Stand and deliver. Robbery. 

12 : 26 . Betwixt Hounslow and London. Hounslow, a vil¬ 
lage twelve miles southwest of London. The road between 
the two places was much travelled and on that account was in¬ 
fested with robbers. 

13 : 1. Cornish lineage. Cornish, of Cornwall, a county in 
southwestern England. 










NOTES 


475 


13 : 9 . St. Michael’s Mount. A lofty rock in Mount’s Bay 
off the coast of Cornwall, southwestern England. 

15 : 18 . The Duke of Norfolk’s affair. Thomas Howard, 
duke of Norfolk, executed in 1572 for plotting in the interests 
of Mary Queen of Scots and the Roman Catholics. 

15 : 27 . To kindle the pile round Latimer and Ridley. Hugh 
Latimer and Nicholas Ridley, English reformers who were 
burned at the stake in 1555 . 

16 : 4 . Cumnor Place. In a valuable work by Mr. Adlard, 
on Amy Robsart, the Earl of Leicester, and Kenilworth, the 
author says that Cumnor Place was originally one of the 
county seats of the abbots of Abingdon, and that, on the disso¬ 
lution of the monasteries, it was granted by Henry VIII. to his 
physician, George Owen. At Owen’s death in 1561 it was 
bought by Anthony Forster, and was occupied by him for sev¬ 
eral years ; and at his demise it passed into the hands of the 
Earl of Leicester. The Place ultimately became the property 
of Lord Abingdon. 

“For a long period,” says Mr. Adlard, “Cumnor was 
deserted; the recollection of Amy Dudley’s melancholy end 
was revived amongst the ignorant villagers, whose imaginations 
conjured up forms and horrors before unheard of, and hence 
arose the legendary tales that have descended to the present 
day. Decay followed fast on desertion, and, with the aid of 
the wanton and mischievous, before a century had rolled away 
it had become almost a ruin. 

A few line elms scattered here and there are all that is left 
to aid in realizing the former picturesque appearance of this 
retreat, where we are privileged to sympathise with suffering 
innocence and blighted affection.” — Laing. 

19 : 8. Wilt thou bet a piece of Hollands against these five 
angels ? Holland has long been noted for its manufacture of 
linens, laces, etc. An angel was a gold coin of Elizabeth’s 
time, worth about two dollars and forty cents. 








476 


NOTES 


19 : 27. Lindabrides. Mistress Lindabrides is the heroine in 
the Spanish romance, The Mirror of Knighthood. St. George. 
The patron saint of England. 

20 : 25. St. Julian. The patron saint of hospitality. 

22 : 30. Scot and lot. Taxes. 

23 : 2. Head-borough. A low-ranking constable. 

23 : 24. Sold himself to the devil for treasure. The selling 
of one’s self to the devil for gain or pleasure is frequently dealt 
with in literature, e.g. Marlow’s Doctor Faustus , Goethe’s 
Faust , Irving’s The Devil and Tom Walker. 

25 : 15. Harry nobles. Nobles coined in the reign of Henry 
VIII. and stamped with his portrait. 

27 : 2. Purlieus of Whitefriars. Outskirts of Whitefriars, a 
district in London once noted for lawlessness. 

28 : 14. The philosopher’s stone. An imaginary stone which 
the alchemists formerly sought as the instrument of converting 
the baser metals into gold. 

28 : 15. Convert my groats into fair rose nobles. A groat 
was an old English coin worth about eight cents; a rose noble 
— so called because it bore the representation of a rose — about 
two dollars and forty cents. The former was made of silver, 
the latter of gold. 

28 : 32. Trained as espaliers. Trained upon a railing or 
trellis. 

28 : 35. Once been parterres. Once been beds or plots, in 
which flowers were cultivated, with intervening spaces of 
gravel or turf to walk upon. 

31 : 22. The compass of a Tyburn tippet. The reach of a 
halter. Tyburn was the place of execution in London from 
1196 until 1783, when it was changed to Newgate. 

32 : 11. Uds daggers. An imprecation. Uds is a corruption 
of the word God. 

32 : 19. Is he a Corinthian — a cutter ? A profligate and a 
thief. The inhabitants of the ancient city of Corinth, Greece, 








NOTES 


477 


grew so debauched in character that the word Corinthian became 
a synonym for licentiousness. 

34 : 16 . Apostle Paul, who kept the clothes, etc. See Acts 
vii. 58 - 59 . 

35: 42 . Milan visor. Milan, a city in northwestern Italy, 
was long famed for its manufacture of armor. 

36: 3 . Seven Sleepers. The seven sleepers of Ephesus. 
(See classical dictionary.) 

36 : 24 . Wear a book at his girdle. Become a monk or 
recluse. A reference to the practice on the part of monks of 
wearing a copy of the offices at their belts. 

36: 26 . St. Antonlin’s. A church in Watling Street, Lon¬ 
don, much frequented at one time by the Puritans. It was 
torn down in 1874 . 

36 : 41 . Are you there with your bears ? Do you continue 
to ask objectionable questions ? 

37 : 1 . In rerum natura. As an actual fact. 

37 : 2 . Putting a jape. Playing a joke. 

40 : 35 . Cutter’s law. The law that governs thieves. 

40 : 39 . Mayor of Halgaver. An imaginary official who 
prosecuted offenders violating the unwritten laws of public 
opinion. Dudman and Ramhead. Two capes on the coast of 
Cornwall about twenty miles apart. 

41 : 3 . Here is proper gear. Here is a fine condition of 
things. An expression of disapproval. 

41 : 15 . Flanders. A name long applied to the coast prov¬ 
inces of southwestern Holland, Belgium, and northeastern 
France. 

41 : 16 . Withal. With. (Obsolete.) 

43 : 17 . Put up your fox. Fox, an old name for broad¬ 
sword. 

43 : 25 . Shog. Move on. (Scotch.) 

44 : 13 . St. Anthony. The patron saint of swineherds; so 
designated because he lived in the forests. 









478 


NOTES 


45 : 28. Tiring room. Dressing room. (An abbreviation of 

attiring room.) 

46 : 27. Posy. Motto. It was once the custom to inscribe 
brief sentiments on rings, etc., which were called posies. 

47 : 85. Set up a bush over thy door. A sign that the house 
was an inn. 

50 : 25. Cup of Alicant. Alicant, a kind of Spanish wine. 

51 : 14. Cabalists, like Dee and Allen. John Dee (1527- 
1608), a London alchemist; and Thomas Allen (1542-1632), 
a mathematician, were thought to be magicians by the people 
of their time. 

53 : 32. Ka me, ka thee. Help me and I’ll help you. 

56 : 34. Giant Briareus. A mythical giant with fifty heads 
and a hundred hands. According to Homer he was called Bri- 
areos by the gods and ACgeon by men. 

56 : 89. The fall of Phaeton. Phaeton, son of Apollo, 
undertaking to drive the chariot of the sun, was upset and 
hurled into the Po River. (See classical dictionary.) 

57 : 27. Cupid and Psyche. The god of love and his wife. 

58 : 2. Morpheus. The god of sleep and dreams. 

64 : 37. Outrance. To the end. 

67 : 37. Bewrayed to my prejudice. Disclosed to my hurt. 
68 : 11 . Earl. Robert Dudley (1532-1588), Earl of Leicester, 
an English courtier, politician, and general. In 1553 he aided his 
father in an attempt to place Lady Jane Grey on the throne, for 
which he was sentenced to be executed, but was pardoned. 
After Elizabeth became queen he gained marked favor with her 
and intrigued to win her hand in marriage, murdering his wife 
Countess Amy to make it possible. He was made Earl of 
Leicester in 1564 and in 1588 placed in command of the forces 
gathered to repel the Spanish Armada. His entertainment of 
Queen Elizabeth at Kenilworth, which Scott has made such a 
prominent factor in the story, occurred in 1575. 

69 : 36. English Garter. The Knights of the Garter or the 





NOTES 


479 


Order of St. George, the highest order of knighthood, was 
founded between 1344 and 1350 by Edward III. The insignia 
of the order are the garter, worn about the left knee ; the badge 
called the George or Great George, attached to a collar of gold’ 
the lesser George, worn on a ribbon over the left shoulder • and 
the star of eight points. 

70 : 14. Order of the Golden Fleece. An order of knight¬ 
hood instituted in 1430 by Philip the Good, duke of Burgundy. 
The badge of the order is a golden ram pendent by a ring. 

70 : 25. Queen Mary’s days when this same Philip, etc.° Mary 
Tudor, known as “Bloody Mary,” wedded Philip of Spain in 
1554. They ruled jointly until her death in 1558. 

71 : 1 - Order of St. Andrew. An order of knighthood said to 
have been established in 809 by Achaicus, king of the Scots, and 
revived in 1540 by James Y. of Scotland. The devices of the 
order are the St. Andrew’s cross, and a thistle-flower with leaves. 

71 : 3. Young widow of France and Scotland. Mary Queen 
of Scots (1542-1587), daughter of James V. of Scotland, and 
wife of Francis II. of France who died in 1560. 

72 : 41. Abye it. Suffer for it. 

73 •’ 36. Latitudinarian nor precisian. Latitudinarian, one 
1 who does not hold strictly to the principles of orthodoxy ; pre¬ 
cisian, one who does. 

73 : 39. Gold pieces of Philip and Mary. Gold coins made 
while Philip and Mary ruled. (See note 70 : 25.) 

74 : 33. Sat beneath the salt. It was once the custom to 
place the salt cellar in the middle of the table ; persons of dis¬ 
tinction sat between it and the head of the table, while depend¬ 
ents and guests of inferior rank sat below. 

75 : 39. What brought my father to the block ? John Dudley, 
Duke of Northumberland, Earl of Warwick, and father of the 
Earl of Leicester, was executed in 1553 for treason by Mary 
Tudor for attempting to place Lady Jane Grey upon the throne 
on the death of Edward VI. (See note 68 : 11.) 







480 


NOTES 


„-2. Sussex. Thomas Ratcliffe (1526-1583), an English 
statesman and general. He was sent to Spain to negotiate fte 
marriage between Queen Mary and Philip I • (see • ’ 

and on his return was made Lord Deputy of Ireland. In 15b9 
he was appointed President of the North, and while occupying 
thaTofficef crushed the northern rebellion. In 1572 he became 
Lord Chamberlain, a position which he held until his deat . 

77 : 41. Burleigh. William Cecil (1520-1598), an eminent 
English statesman who was prime minister for nearly for y 
years. Walsingham, Sir Francis (1536-1590), an English 

statesman “* o ^°” a ^ weU (1490-1540), an English courtier 
and minister of state, born of humble parentage; executed for 

7 ; Ralph Sadler (1507-1687). An English courtier, 
soldier, and statesman. 

78 : 16. Via ! Away ! 

80 • 22. The bear brooks no one, etc. The Leicester coat-o - 
arms was a device including a bear and ragged staff. 

8 q • 21 Woodstock. A royal residence eight miles northwest 
of Oxford, the scene of Scott’s novel, Woodstock. It was here 
that Henry II. kept his mistress Rosamond Clifford, and Eliza¬ 
beth was imprisoned by Mary. . ‘ 

83 : 28. Meridian of the ante-chamber. High place;, m close 

touch with the superior. 

84 : 4. Cog’s wounds. God’s wounds, a form of oath. 

85 : 16. Beyond the Line. Beyond the equator. 

85 : 43. Shooter’s Hill. A favorite haunt of highwaymen 

near Greenwich. 

86 : 3. Hue and cry. The pursuit of a criminal with outcries 
to give an alarm. Any person hearing the signal was bound to ^ 
-join in the chase and aid in the capture. 

86 : 14. Gogsnouns. A similar corruption to Cog’s wounds, 

(See note 84:4.) 





NOTES 


481 


87 : 22 . By the eye. In abundance. 

87 : 23. Jumps. Agrees with. 

88 : 10 . Residence of fair Rosamond. See note 83 : 21 . 

88 : 13. Blenheim House. A palace at the village of Wood- 
stock built by Vanburgh or Vanbrugh in 1705-1716, at the ex¬ 
pense of the government, for the first duke of Marlborough, who 
in 1704 won a splendid victory over the French and Bavarians 
at Blenheim, Bavaria. 

93 : 41 . Conjunction of Mars and Saturn. Both Mars and 
Saturn were regarded by the ancients as evil stars and their 
conjunction boded disaster. 

95 : 32. Battle of Stoke. Fought at Stoke-upon-Trent in 
1847 between the forces of Henry VII. and the pretender Lam- 

I bert Simnel. It was won by the former. 

96 : 6 . Almains. Germans. Almain is an old name for 
I Germany. 

96 : 25 . Perkin Warbeck. A pretender to the English crown, 
who, on attempting to invade England in 1497, was captured^ 

i and two years later executed. He claimed the throne as a son 
> of Edward IV. 

98 : 6 . By the rood. By the cross. 

100 : 9. Corragio. Courage. 

100 : 18. Cameradoes. Comrades. 

103 : 15. Vale of Whitehorse. A valley in Berkshire, south¬ 
ern England, so called because it contains the rude figure of a 
horse made by removing the soil from a bed of limestone. It 
was the scene of a desperate battle between the Danes and the 
Saxons in 886 , the latter winning a decisive victory. 

104 : 19 . Favete linguis. Keep silence. 

104 : 25. Quid mihi cum caballo ? What have I to do with 
the horse ? 

104 : 32. Dionysius. Dionysius the Younger (395-343 b.c.), 
tyrant of Syracuse. On his expulsion in 343 b.c. he retired to 
Corinth, where he became a schoolmaster. 

2 1 



482 


NOTES 


Harleauin’s wooden sword. Harlequin, a jester or 
CoTn le^ re usuany armed with weapons tnade o £ 
wood. (See Wamba, Scott’s /^oe Chap^ L) ? 

!04 . 43 . Salve, domine. Intelligisne lingua 

... i p..<« •• ■»- - ™ - 1 ” 

tongue. 

Tuguria. Cottages. 

Faber ferrarius. Blacksmith. 

Pauca verba. Tew words ; have done. 

Curetur jentaculum. Look after the breakfast. 

Felix bis terque. Twice, yes, three times fortunate. 
0, cseca mens mortalium! O, darkened mind of 


105 : 10 . 
105 : 11 . 
105 : 22 . 


23 . 

: 26 . 
: 32 . 


Juvenal (60-140). A noted 


105 
105 
105 

man! 

~z«- 

fi To"^Serare g na. Our poor domains. Hospi¬ 
ce : e" Erasmus (1465-1536). A famous Dutch classical 
SCh ro6 :13 d Fmnum habet in cornu. It has hay wrapped about 

itS TJe semissem quidem. Not a single groat. 

106 ‘ ’ r343-270 b.c.V The founder of the Epi- 

■was a member of the school. 

S:ik Ca Q t:r iucus r : non lucendo. an absurd 

reason. 






NOTES 


483 


107 : 18 . Ludi magister. Master of the school or master of 
children’s play, hence holiday master. 

107 : 36 . Erasmus ab Die Fausto. Erasmus de Holiday. 

107 : 39 . Letter tau. The Greek letter corresponding to our 
letter “ t.” 

107 : 42 . Quid hoc ad Iphycli boves ? What has that to do> 
with Iphyclus’ cattle ? Iphyclus, a mythological character,, 
who owned large herds of cattle. 

108 : 1. Festina lente. Don’t get impatient. 

108 : 5 . Magister artium. The degree of A.M. 

108 : 18 . Order of Rosy Cross. An order of mystical philoso¬ 
phers of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries that pro¬ 
fessed the power to change metals, skill in magic, alchemy, etc. 

108 : 19 . Geber. A celebrated Arabian alchemist of the 
eighth century. Ex nomine cujus venit, etc. From whose 
name is derived the common word “gibberish.” 

108 : 33 . Marcus Tullius. Cicero ( 106-43 b.c.) A cele¬ 
brated Roman philosopher, orator, and statesman. Difdcilium 
rerum diurna perpessio. Endurance of hardships from day to 
day. 

109 : 3 . Et sic de caeteris. And so on with the rest. 

109:6. Maro. Virgil ( 70-19 b.c.), a noted Roman poet. 

Uno avulso, non deficit alter. When one has been torn off, 
another grows in its place. 

109 : 13 . Saltim banqui and charlatini. Quacks and charla¬ 
tans. 

109 : 17 . Persius. ( 34-62 a.d.) A Roman satirist. 

no : 29 . Mulciber ... his Cyclops. Vulcan, the Roman god 
of the forge, who was assisted by the Cyclops, a race of one-eyed 
giants. 

in : 3 . Ricarde ! adsis, nebulo. Richard! you idle fellow, 
come here. 

in : 12. Septuagint. A Greek version of the Hebrew scrip¬ 
tures. 


484 


NOTES 


So ho, there, Richard! 


hi : 21. Ergo, heus, Ricarde ! etc. 
my pupil, come here, I pray you. 
hi : 43. Arrow. Any. 

112 -3. Nugae. Trifles. 

ii 2 : 7. Eumenides, Stygiumque nefas. The furies and the 
Stygian monster. (See classical dictionary.) 

112 : 42. Mi anime, corculum meum. My life, my little heart. 
5. Another-guess gentleman. Another kind of gentle- 




ii5 
man. 
120 
121 


5 Cut boon whids. Give good words. 
i 2 i : 31. St. Lucy’s Eve. The 18th of September. St. Lucy 
is said to have been the daughter of one of the early Scottish 
kings. She lived in solitude near the Meuse River m 

124 -17 Black Bull. Probably the Red Bull, a theatre m 
St. John’s Street, London. The Globe. A theatre between 
London and Blackfriars’ Bridges on the south bank of the 
Thames. Shakespeare wrote for it and shared m its profits ; 
also acted here. The Fortune. A theatre in Aldersgate, 
London, built in 1599, about twenty-five years after the time of 

. 2 . Jack Pudding. A clown mentioned in early English 

125 : 35. Si fixum solvas, etc. If you dissolve a fixed sub¬ 
stance, and make the solution fly, and then fix it again, being 
volatile, you will live safe and sound. If the process causes a 
wind, it is worth a hundred pieces of gold. The wind blows 
where it lists — catch it who can. 

1 3 0 : 36. Won’d. Dwelt. 

131 : 25. Palabras. Talk. 

138 : 25. Flight-shot. Bow shot. 

140 : 10. Battle of Bosworth. The battle of Bosworth was 
fought in 1485 between the forces of Richard III. and the Earl ; 
of Richmond. Richard was slain and Richmond ascended the 






NOTES 435 

throne as Henry VII. This marked the downfall of the Plan- 
tagenet line and the rise of the Tudor. 

140 : 12 . Primo Henrici Septimi. The first year of Henry 
VII. ’s reign. 

140 : 43 . C’est l’homme, etc. It is the man who does the 
fighting and gives counsel. 

142 : 3 . Tertio Marias. The third year of Mary’s reio-n 
( 1556 ). 

142 : 13 . A house of removal. A place of confinement, a 
cell. 

142 : 26 . Laquei amoris, or lacs d’amour. Love snares. 

143 : 9 . Ccelebs and sine prole. Unmarried and childless. 

143 : 38 . Seiant and passant. Sitting and walking. Terms 
in heraldry. 

144:1. Reguardant. Turned to look back. 

144 : 2. St. Austen’s Eve. St. Augustine’s Eve or the even¬ 
ing of August 27 . 

145 : 20. At the bottom of a tin mine. Devonshire, a county 
in southwestern England, is noted for its tin and copper mines. 

145 : 21. Arcanum. The secret of converting the baser metals 
into gold; alchemy. 

149 : 15 . Manna of St. Nicholas. A clear, tasteless poison 
used and sold by the poisoner Toffania of Naples in the early 
part of the eighteenth century. 

.151 : 31 . Pusey horn. The manor of Pusey in Berkshire is 
held by virtue of an oxhorn said to have been presented to the 
Pusey family by Canute the Great. 

151 : 33 . Wild legend of Wayland Smith. The great defeat 
given by Alfred to the Danish invaders is said to have taken 
place near Ashdown in Berkshire. The burial place of Bacseg, 
the Danish chief, who was slain in this fight, is distinguished by 
a parcel of stones, less than a mile from the hill, set on edge, 
enclosing a piece of ground somewhat raised. On the east side 
of the southern extremity stand three squarish flat stones, of 


486 


NOTES 


about four or five feet over either way, supporting a fourth and 
now called by the vulgar Wayland Smith , from an idle tradi¬ 
tion about an invisible smith replacing lost horse-shoes here. 

The popular belief still retains memory of this wild legend, 
which, connected as it is with the site of a Danish sepulchre, 
may have arisen from some legend concerning the northern 
Duergar, who resided in the rocks, and were cunning woikers 
in steel and iron. It was believed that Wayland Smith’s fee 
was six pence, and that, unlike other workmen, he was offended 
if more was offered. Of late his offices have been called to 
memory : but fiction has in this, as in other cases, taken the 
liberty to pillage the stores of oral tradition. This monument 
must be very ancient, for it has been kindly pointed out to me 
that it is referred to in an ancient Saxon charter as a landmark. 
The monument has been of late cleared out, and made con¬ 
siderably more conspicuous. — Laing. 

152 : 10 . Monsieur. Duke of Anjou, youngest son of Henry 
II of France, a suitor of Queen Elizabeth. 

154 : 28 . Castle-ditch of Aleppo. Aleppo, a city in Turkey 
in Asia near the northeastern shore of the Mediterranean Sea. 
It was captured by the Crusaders in 1170 and conquered by the 
Turks in 1517 . 

155 : 2 . Tokay. A wine of excellent quality made near 
Tokay, northern Hungary. Lachrymae. * A rich Italian wine 
made from grapes grown on Mt. Vesuvius. 

156 : 21 . Match for match. Quoted from old farce, The Col¬ 
lier of Croydon. 

156 : 30 . Orvietan. Orvietan, or Venice treacle as it was 
sometimes called, was understood to be a sovereign remedy 
against poison ; and the reader must be contented for the time 
he peruses these pages to hold the same opinion, which was 
once universally received by the learned as well as the vulgar. 
— Scott. 

156 : 40 . Bell-Savage. An inn in Ludgate Hill, London. 









NOTES 


487 




157 : 15. Mr. Evelyn. John Evelyn (1620-1706), author of a 
manuscript diary covering the period 1641-1697 — “ The Mem¬ 
oirs of Evelyn ” —first printed in 1818. 

158 : 16 . To finesse. To use stratagem. 

158 : 24 . The two nobles who at present stood as rivals. 
Naunton gives us numerous and curious particulars of the 
jealous struggle which took place between Ratcliffe, Earl of 
Sussex, and the rising favourite Leicester. The former, when 
on his death-bed, predicted to his followers that, after his death, 
the gipsy (so he called Leicester, from his dark complexion) 
would prove too many for them. — Scott. 

161 : 30. Indamira. The heroine of Dryden’s tragedy 
Aurungzebe. Amoret. A character in Spenser’s Faerie 
Queen impersonating the grace and charm of womanly beauty. 

162 : 2 . What man that sees the ever whirling wheel, etc. 
See lines 1 - 5 , Spenser’s Cantos on Mutability , a fragment of 
the Faerie Queen. 

162 : 12 . Master Walter Wittypate. Sir Walter Raleigh. 
Among the attendants and adherents of Sussex, we have ven¬ 
tured to introduce the celebrated Raleigh, in the dawn of his 
court favour. In Aubrey’s Correspondence there are some 
particulars of him. “ He was a tall, handsome, and bold man ; 
but his naeve was that he was damnably proud. Old Sir Robert 
Harley of Brampton Brian Castle, who knew him, would say, 
’twas a great question who was the proudest, Sir Walter or Sir 
Thomas Overbury; but the difference that was was judged on 
Sir Thomas’s side. ... In the great parlour at Downton, at 
Mr. Raleigh’s, is a good piece, an original of Sir Walter, in a 
white satin doublet, all embroidered with rich pearls, and a 
mighty rich chain of great pearls about his neck. The old 
servants have told me that the real pearls were near as big as 
the painted ones. He had a most remarkable aspect, an exceed¬ 
ing high forehead, long-faced, and sour-eyelidded. ” A rebus is. 
added, to this purpose, — 



488 


NOTES 


“ The enemy to the stomach, and the words of disgrace, 

Is the name of the gentleman with a hold face.” — Scott. 

170 : 18. Shag-headed Irish kernes. Light-armed Irish in¬ 
fantry with long, coarse hair. 

170 : 29. Lord Hunsdon. Elizabeth’s cousin, their mothers 
being sisters. 

171 : 16. As she hesitated to pass on, etc. This gallant inci¬ 
dent of the cloak is the traditional account of this celebrated 
statesman’s rise at court. None of Elizabeth’s courtiers knew 
better than he how to make his court to her personal vanity, 
or could more justly estimate the quantity of flattery which she 
could condescend to swallow. Being confined to the Tower for 
some offence, and understanding that the Queen was about to 
pass to Greenwich in her barge, he insisted on approaching the 
window, that he might see, at whatever distance, the queen of 
his affections, the most beautiful object which the earth bore on 
its surface. The lieutenant of the Tower (his own particular 
friend) threw himself between the prisoner and the window ; 
while Sir Walter, apparently inflamed with a fit of unrestrain- 
able passion, swore he would not be debarred from seeing his 
light, his life, his goddess ! A scuffle ensued, got up for effect’s 
sake, in which the lieutenant and his captive grappled and 
struggled with fury, tore each other’s hair, and at length drew 
daggers, and were only separated by force. The Queen being 
informed of this scene exhibited by her frantic adorer, it 
wrought, as was to be expected, much in favour of the captive 
Paladin. There is little doubt that his quarrel with the lieu¬ 
tenant was entirely contrived for the purpose which it pro¬ 
duced. — Scott. 

171 : 27. Drab-de-bure. Mantle of coarse woollen material. 

171 : 31. In cuerpo. Naked. 

176 : 10. Shannon. The principal river in Ireland. 

178 : 6 . Vogue la galere. Come what may. 



NOTES 


489 


180 : 11. Ram’s Alley. Off Fleet Street near Whitefriars ; 
noted for its dirty cook shops. Now called Hare Place. 

181 : 10. Cap’d verses with him. In capping verses, when 
one quotes a verse another must cap it by quoting one begin¬ 
ning with the last letter of the first, or with the first letter, or 
with the first letter of the last word, or ending with a rhyming 
word, or by applying any other arbitrary rule that may be 
agreed upon. 

182:6. Bilboa blades. Swords made at Bilbao, a seaport 
town in northern Spain, long noted for its manufacture of such 
weapons. Note the spelling. 

182 : 7. Bear the bell. Take the lead. 

184:43. Usher of the Black Rod. The usher to the king’s 
chamber and to the House of Lords. So called because of the 
black rod which he carries. 

193 :10. Talisman. A charm supposed to exercise extraor¬ 
dinary influences over the bearer and others who come into its 
immediate presence. See Scott’s The Talisman , Chapter IX. 

195 :15. Cressidas. Cressid or Cressida, the mythical daugh¬ 
ter of a Trojan priest, who proved so faithless to her promises 
that her name became a synonym for faithlessness. She was 
wooed by Troilus, a son of King Priam the Trojan ruler, whom 
she rejected. She is frequently introduced into literature. 
See Troilus and Cressida, by Chaucer, Shakespeare, and Dry- 
den. 

195 : 33. Cressid was yours, etc. Shakespeare’s Troilus and 
Cressida , Act V, Sc. 2, 11. 146-157. This play was written in 
1603. Note the anachronism. 

196 :13. Matamoros. The stock boasters of Spanish comedy. 
The name signifies Slayers of Moors. 

197 : 21. Two famed classic streams. The Rhone and the 
Sadne rivers, the latter flowing into the former in southeastern 
France. Csesar speaks of them in his Gallic Wars , Book I. 

197 : 22 . Master Ascham. Roger Ascham (1515-1568), a 



490 


NOTES 


noted English classical scholar, who was tutor to Elizabeth from 
1548 to 1550. 

197 = 37- Paris and Menelaus. Paris, the Trojan who ab¬ 
ducted Helen, and Menelaus, her Grecian husband. 

199 • 29. Scylla. A famous rock in the Strait of Messina, off 
the coast of Italy. Opposite it is the celebrated whirlpool 
Charybdis. These places were much dreaded by the sailors of 
ancient times. (See classical dictionary.) 

200 :11. Unfortunate Mary. Mary Queen of Scots (1542- 
1587), imprisoned in England, where she had fled for refuge 
after the murder of her husband (see note 220:27) in 1568; 
executed for conspiracy against Elizabeth. 

201 : 39. Master Edmund Spenser (1553-1599). A celebrated 
English poet and statesman; best known as the author of the 
Faerie Queen. 

202 : 3. Will Shakespeare. Note the anachronism. Shake¬ 
speare was a boy but twelve years of age at the time of the 
story. 

202 : 4 . Philip Sydney (1554-1586). An English scholar 
and author. Arcadia , a pastoral romance, is his best known 
work. 

202 : 5 . Venus and Adonis. One of Shakespeare’s poems; 
written in 1593. 

206 :1. Esculapius. The god of the art of medicine; called 
by Homer the “blameless physician.” 

207 : 35 . Skenes. Short daggers. Commonly written skeans. 

208 :17. At quarter-staff. A quarter staff is a stout stick 
several feet in length formerly used as a weapon; so called be¬ 
cause in holding it one hand was placed in the middle, and the 
other between the middle and the end. (See the quarter-staff 
combat in Scott’s Ivanhoe , Chapter XI.) Single falchion. A 
falchion is a short, broad sword having a convex edge curv¬ 
ing sharply to the point. It was much used in Elizabeth’s I 
time. 











NOTES 


491 


208 : 19 . A tough fight with the rangers of old Sir Thomas 
Lucy, etc. A reference to the popular legend concerning a diffi¬ 
culty between Shakespeare and Sir Thomas Lucy which was 
largely responsible for Shakespeare going to London. 

211 :26. That very time I saw, etc. Shakespeare’s A Mid¬ 
summer Night's Dream, Act II, Sc. 1, 11. 155-163. 

214 : 11 . Ladies of Parnassus. The Muses, nine in number, 
who presided over the arts and sciences, music and poetry. 
They lived on Mount Parnassus in central Greece. 

218 : 2. Scottish wild cattle. A remnant of the wild cattle 
of Scotland are preserved at Chillingham Castle, near Wooler, 
in Northumberland, the seat of Lord Tankerville. They fly 
before strangers ; but if disturbed and followed, they turn with 
fury on those who persist in annoying them. — Scott. 

220 : 27 . Darnley of Scotland. Lord Darnley (1541-1567), 
second husband of Mary Queen of Scots. He was killed by the 
Earl of Bothwell, probably by the queen’s consent. 

221 : 4. Nil ultra. Nothing beyond. 

221 : 6 . Hymen. The god of marriage. 

221 : 1 . Judicial astrology. That branch of astrology which 
pretends to foretell human affairs. 

223 : 3. Astra regunt homines, etc. The stars rule men, but 
God rules the stars. 

223 : 43. Future Augustus. Octavianus, the first Roman 
emperor, was given the title of Augustus by the senate in 
27 b.c. The word means consecrated by augury. 

224 : 1 . Haruspices. Soothsayers. 

225 : 5 . The divine art . . . devised in the plains of Chal¬ 
dea. Astrology is believed to have originated among the 
Chaldeans. 

226 : 37. Hali. Also known as Ali Ibn Aben-Ragel; an 
Arabian astrologer of the eleventh century. 

227 : 2. Projection. Changing the baser metals to gold. 

227 : 3 . Hermetic artist. Alchemist. 



492 


NOTES 


22 j : 15 . Nequisquam Ajacem possit superare nisi Ajax. No 

one but Ajax can overcome Ajax. 

ooR • 13 Bluff King Hal. Henry VIII. , , 

22 8 • 30. Jewish Cabala. A mystic system of mmgled pti- 
losophy, theology, and magic that originated among the Jews 

^“Xagisterium. The philosopher’s stone. (See 

n Z?-32'\t may be we shall not need thy medicine. The 

Earl of Leicester’s Italian physician, Julio, was affirmed by his 
contemporaries to be a skillful compounder of poisons, which 
he applied with such frequency that the Jesuit Parsons exto s 
ironically the marvellous good luck of this great favorite m the 
opportune deaths of those who stood in the way of his wishes. 

There is a curious passage on the subject: cmpffield 

“ Long after this, he fell in love with the Lady Sheffield, 
whom I signified before, and then also had he the same> foritun 
to have her husband die. quickly. ... The like good chance 
had he in the death of my lord of Sussex and that at a time 

most fortunate for his purpose. . . . Neither ."°" “”™'s 

though all these died in divers manners of outward diseases, 
for this is the excellency of the Italian art, for which this sur- 
gion and Dr. Julio were entertained so carefully, who can make 
a man die in what manner or shew of sicknesse you wi . 

SC ° 3 T: 10. A base besognio and a puckfist. A worthless and 

niggardly fellow. . , 

. 13. St. John’s Berg. Johannisberg, a village in south¬ 
western Prussia on the Rhine River, which produces the famous 
Johannisberger wine. 

233 : 23. Parish-top. A large top kept by the parish for the 

amusement of the common people. . . , 

234 : 11. Ell-wand. A measuring stick three feet nine inches 

in length. 





NOTES 


493 


234 : 12 . Autolycus’s profession. Autolycus, a character in 
Shakespeare’s Winter" 1 s Tale , who is a pedler by profession. 

235 : 26. Cancer and Capricorn. Signs of the zodiac which 
mark the northern and southern limits of the sun’s course. 

235 : 31. Chesu. A corrupt form of Jesu or Jesus. 

236 : 10. Potosi. Silver. Potosi is a town in southwestern 
Bolivia noted for its production of silver. 

236 : 11 . ’Sblood. God’s blood. 

237 : 19. Spanish ruff. A plaited or fluted collar or frill 
worn by both men and women in the sixteenth century. 

238 : 15. Raddled. Whipped, beat. Robin Hood. The 
famous English outlaw of the twelfth century whose exploits 
have been the theme of many songs and stories. 

238 : 20. Now Robin Hood drew his sword so good, etc. See 
the ballad, “The Bold Pedler and Robin Hood.” 

238 : 36. Black sanctus. A profane hymn. 

241 : 38. Albumazar. A noted Arabian astronomer of the 
j ninth century. 

241 : 40. Ursa Major. The most conspicuous constellation 
j of the northern heavens, shaped like a bear with a long 

tail. 

242 : 16. Jowring. Swearing. Commonly written jouring. 

242 : 20. God ield thee, for mine is aw in littocks. God 

reward thee, for mine is all in tatters. 

242 : 21 . Slocket with thy pack into gharn, mon. Slip with 
thy pack into the garden, man. 

243 : 7. Lawn as white as driven snow, etc. See Shake¬ 
speare’s The Winter's Tale. Act IV, Sc. 3, 11. 220-223. 

244 : 24. Casting bottles. Bottles for sprinkling perfumed 
waters. 

248 : 21. A1 fresco. In the open air. 

248 : 27. Truepenny. A name applied by Hamlet to his 
father’s ghost. “ Art thou there truepenny ? ” — Hamlet, Act 
I, Sc. 5, 1. 150. 




494 


NOTES 


249 : 11. Lex Julia. A law of the Roman Emperor Augustus 
designed to promote marriage and punish licentiousness. 

249 : 13. Up seyes. A corrupted Dutch phrase meaning 
here it goes. 

249 : 16. Heart-spone. Breast-bone. 

250 : 19. Manna of Satan. Poison. (See note 149 :15.) 

251 : 12. Alter ego. Second half. 

252 : 13. Sir John Harrington. An English poet of Elizabeth’s 
time, known chiefly for his translation of the Orlando Furioso. 
His characterization of the Queen is found in a letter to Mr. 
Robert Markham, written in 1606. 

254 : 4. Furens quid fcemina. What a frenzied woman can 

do. 

256 : 6 . Arcadia. (See note 202: 4.) 

262 : 39. In the gross. Not entering into detail. (Rare.) 
264 : 15. One of the graces. The Graces, three in number, 
personified grace and beauty. 

264 : 16. A Fury. The Furies, also three in number, personi¬ 
fied rage, envy, and slaughter. They were the punishers of 
evil-doers. 

265 : 24. The patriarch Abraham feigned Sarah to be his 
sister. See Genesis xii. 13. 

271 : 17. Trismegistus. The Egyptian god Thoth whom the 
early Greeks identified with Hermes, their messenger god. He 
was regarded by the alchemists as the originator of their 
art. 

272 : 5. City beheld by St. John. See Revelation xxi. 

272 : 6 . Apocalypse. A title frequently applied to the book 
of Revelation. 

273 : 9. Burning bricks in Egypt. See Exodus v. 6-19. 

273 : 10. Wandering in the dry desert of Sinai. See Exodus 

xvii. 1-3. 

273 :14. The magicians strove with Moses before King 
Pharaoh. See Exodus vii. 10-12. 





NOTES 495 

273 : 40. St. Luke’s Hospital. An insane asylum in Moor- 
fields, London. 

279 : 13. Like the wicked Ahab, etc. See I Kings xxii. 
11-29. 

279 : 20. Tyrant Naas. Nahash, king of the Ammonites. 
See I Samuel xi. 1 - 2 . 

282 : 16. Star Chamber. A court of civil and criminal juris¬ 
diction established in 1487 by Henry VII. to punish such 
offences as the law made no provision for; so called because it 
met in a room whose ceiling was decorated with gilt stars. It 
was abolished in 1644 by the Long Parliament. 

282 : 27. Philippine cheney. A kind of worsted or woollen 
stuff, the exact character of which is uncertain. The name is a 
Corruption of Philip and Cheyney, an early equivalent of Tom , 
Dick , and Harry. 

283 : 13. Wise widow of Tekoa. See II Samuel xiv. 

284 : 19. Prigged a prancer. Stolen a horse. 

287 : 32. Turnball Street. A street in London once the re¬ 
sort of low characters. Now called Turnmill Street. 

288 : 5. Oons. God’s wounds. Similar to zounds. 

288 : 31. King Cambyses’s vein. Cambyses, a pompous, 
Tanting character in Thomas Preston’s tragedy of that name 
I written in 1661. Shakespeare mentions him in his I Henry IV.: 

“ Give me a cup of sack to make mine eyes look red ; for I must 
speak in passion, and I will do it in King Cambyses veiny 

— I Henry IV., Act II, Sc. 4. 

288 : 33. Excalibur. King Arthur’s famous sword presented 
to him by the Lady of the Lake. (See note 348 : 12 ; also 
Tennyson’s The Coming of Arthur , lines 282-286.) 

288 : 35. Haro. An old Norman cry for help. 

288 : 38. Paynim. Pagan, heathen. (Obsolete or archaic.) 

289 : 14. Shot window. A window projecting from the wall, 
used for defence. 



496 


NOTES 


289 : 18. Picture of Lot’s wife. See Genesis xix. 26. 

291 : 33. Hand-gallop. A slow gallop in which the bridle- 
hand holds the horse in check. 

292 : 3. Toledo. A sword of excellent quality made at 
Toledo, a city in central Spain. 

2g2 : 16. Happy man be his dole. May his lot be that of a 
happy man. 

293 : 19. Recte quidem, Domine spectatissime. Assuredly 

we are, most worthy sir. 

293 : 37. Lucina fer opem. Lucina, give thine aid. Lucina 
was the goddess who presided over childbirth. 

294 : 8 . Gaudet nomine Sibyllas. She rejoices in the name 
of Sibyl. 

294 : 32. JEtna. A famous volcano in eastern Sicily. The 
name is usually written Etna. 

296 : 26. Wife of Bath. One of Chaucer’s Canterbury Pil¬ 
grims. See Canterbury Tales , Prologue, lines 445-476. 

296 : 34. Rare Gillian of Croydon. Probably a reference to 
the character Marian in the old farce, The Collier of Croydon . 

297 : 38. A Rowland for thine Oliver. A blow for a blow. 
Rowland or Roland and Oliver, two of Charlemagne’s mightiest 
warriors, once engaged in a combat which lasted for five days. 
They were so evenly matched that neither gained an advantage; 
hence the expression, “To give a Roland for an Oliver,” mean¬ 
ing a blow for a blow. 

302 : 9. Board of Green Cloth. A committee of the royal 
household, formerly charged with the duty of procuring pro¬ 
visions. 

305 : 33. Mortimer, Earl of March. Roger Mortimer (1287— 
1330). An English politician who assisted Isabella of France in 
overthrowing her husband, Edward II. of England, and after¬ 
ward practically ruled the country for several years. He was 
finally defeated and captured by Edward III., who sent him to 
the block. 






NOTES 


4$7 


305 : 36. Old John of Gaunt. Duke of Lancaster (1340- 
1399). The fourth son of Edward III. and an active politician. 
Shakespeare speaks of him as the “time honour’d Lancaster.” 
See King Richard the Second , Act I, Sc. 1, 1. 1 . 

309 : 16. Did the unfortunate Countess of Leicester approach, 
etc. The historical critic will recognize an obvious anachron¬ 
ism in the author’s account of Amy’s visit to Kenilworth Castle. 
The festivities there took place in July, 1575, several years after 
the death of the real Amy Dudley. It may be mentioned, how- 
[ ever, that during these festivities the Earl of Leicester was living 
jin secret wedlock with Lady Sheffield. — Laing. 

310 : 10. Heptarchy. A name formerly applied to the early 
I English kingdoms before they were consolidated. 

310 : 19. Colbrand. A Danish giant slain by the legendary 
hero, Sir Guy of Warwick. Ascapart. A giant conquered by 
Bevis of Hampton. He is frequently mentioned by Elizabethan 
writers. 

310 : 21. Chopin. The old traveller Coryat, in his amusing 
work called Crudities , 1611, says the Chopin is a thing “ so com¬ 
mon in Venice, that no woman whatsoever goeth without it, 
either in her house or abroad — a thing made of wood, and 
covered with leather of sundry colours, some with white, some 
redde, some yellow. It is called ‘ chapiny,’ which they weare 
under their shoes. . . . There are many of these chapineys of 
a great height, even half a yard high, which maketh many of 
their women that are very short seeme much taller than the 
tallest women we have in England.” — Laing. 

310 : 22. Son of Anak. Anak was the progenitor of a race 
of giants living in southern Palestine. See Numbers xiii. 33. 

312 : 5. Afrite. An evil spirit in Mohammedan mythology. 

313 : 7. She-wolf of France. Isabella, wife of Edward II. 
(See note 305 : 33.) 

313 : 40. Bess of Bedlam. Bedlam, an asylum for lunatics 
in London. 


2k 




NOTES 


498 

319: 17. Minikin. Minion, favorite. Miller’s thumb. 
Warbler. 

319 : 18. Cacodemons. Evil spirits. 

319 : 33. Sheffield whittle. A large knife made at Sheffield, 
a manufacturing city in central England. 

334 : 30. Arion. A Greek poet of the sixth century before 
Christ, who, as legend has it, was cast into the sea by sailors, 
but was rescued by dolphins. 

334 : 31. St. Christopher. A Syrian martyr of the third 
century. 

334 : 32. Orion ... his belt and his seven stars. Orion, in 

Greek mythology, was a gigantic hunter, who, having been 
slain by Diana, was changed into a constellation. The constel¬ 
lation contains seven stars, four of which form a quadrangle in 
the middle of which the other three are ranged in a straight 
line forming what is called the belt or girdle. 

335 : 19. Limbo. Prison. 

336 : 15. Santo Diavolo. Saint Devil. 

336 : 32. St. Peter of the Fetters. A reference to the apostle 
Peter either as a captive bound in chains (see Acts xii. 6 ) or as 
a chosen leader given the power to bind or loose whatsoever he 
willed. (See Matthew xvi. 19.) 

337 : 30. Thieves’ Latin. Thieves’ language. 

338 : 2. Raro antecedentem. An allusion to a passage in 
Horace’s Odes , III, 2, in which punishment is said nearly 
always to dog the heels of an evil-doer. 

340 : 43. God bless the mark. An expression of irony or 
scorn used in archery. 

341 : 8 . Bartholomew Fair. A fair formerly held in London 
on St. Bartholomew’s Day. It began in 1133 and lasted until 
1855. At first it was a great cloth market, but gradually 
changed from a place of business to one of pleasure. 

343 : 21. St. Barnaby. Barnabas, the associate of the Apostle 
Paul. (See Acts xi. 30.) 














NOTES 


499 


343 : 27. Fatidicae. Those who predict fate. 

343 : 32. Liberties of Warwick. The territory over which 
Warwick had jurisdiction. 

343 : 33. Pertaesa barbarae loquelae. Heartily sick of a lan¬ 
guage not her own. 

346 : 43. What stir, what turmoil, etc. This is an imitation 
of Gascoigne’s verses spoken by the herculean porter as men¬ 
tioned in the text. The original may be found in the republi¬ 
cation of the Princely Pleasures of Kenilworth, by the same 
author, in the History of Kenilworth, Chiswick, 1^821.— Scott. 

347 : 37. Tritons, Nereids. The Tritons were the trumpeters 
of the sea-gods, and were depicted as a kind of mermen. The 
Nereids wire sea nymphs, usually represented as beautiful girls 
riding on dolphins. 

348 : 12. Lady of the Lake. A name given in Arthurian 
romance to Vivian, the mistress of the wizard Merlin, who 
instituted the Round Table and built King Arthur’s capital. 
(See note 288:33.) It was she who educated Launcelot, the 
most powerful knight of the Round Table. 

350 : 24. The Earl of Leicester . . . knelt down before her. 
To justify what may be considered a high-colored picture, the 
author quotes the original of the courtly and shrewd Sir James 
Melville, being then Queen Mary’s envoy at the court of 
London. 

“I was required,” says Sir James, “ to stay till I had seen 
him made Earl of Leicester and Baron of Denbigh, with great 
solemnity at Westmester; herself (Elizabeth) helping to put on 
his ceremonial, he sitting upon his knees before her, keeping a 
great gravity and discreet behavior; but she could not refrain 
from putting her hand in his neck to kittle ( i.e . tickle) him, 
smilingly, the French ambassador and I standing beside her.” 
— Scott. 

352 : 30. The wisest clerks are not the wisest men. Chaucer 
has it, 




500 


NOTES 


The gretteste clerkes been nought wisest men. 

— The Reeve's Tale , 1. 4054. 

356 : 42. Orlando Furioso. A metrical romance by Ariosto 
(1474-1533), an Italian poet, which was translated into English 
by Sir John Harrington. (See note 252 : 13.) 

357 : 26. Pindaric. After the style of Pindar (522-443 
B.C.), the greatest of the Greek lyrists. 

358 : 22. Cod’s-head. Fool. 

360 : 28. Of whom I have read in some Italian rhymes. The 

incident alluded to occurs in the poem of Orlando Innamorato 
of Boiardo, Book II, Canto II, Stanza XXVI. It may be ren¬ 
dered thus: — 

As then, perchance, unguarded was the tower 
So enter’d free Anglante’s dauntless knight. 

No monster and no giant guard the bower 
In whose recess reclined the fairy light, 

Robed in a loose cymar of lily white, 

And on her lap a sword of breadth and might, 

In whose broad blade, as in a mirror bright, 

Like maid that trims her for a festal night, 

The fairy deck’d her hair and placed her coronet bright. 

— Scott. 




363 : 38. Accolade. The light blow struck with the sword on 
the shoulder of one who is knighted. 

364 : 33. Largesse — largesse, chevaliers trds hardis ! Your 
gifts, your gifts, bold knights ! 

365 : 5. Vivats. Exclamations. 

365 :12. Sir Pandarus of Troy. An ally of the Trojans dur¬ 
ing the siege of Troy. In mediseval romance he is made a low, 
obscure character. 

365 : 22. Coucher. Going to bed. 

367 : 3. Saul among the prophets. See I Samuel x. 11. 

367 : 40. Put not your trust in princes. See Psalm cxlvi. 3. 

369 : 37. Eleanor and your fair Rosamond. Eleanor was the 






NOTES 


501 


wife of Henry II., and Rosamond his mistress. (See notes 
83 :21, 88 : 10.) 

372 : 14. Region of the sylphs. Sylphs were fairies inhabit¬ 
ing the air. 

375 : 20. Calipolis. The wife of the Moorish prince, Muly 
Mahomet, in Peele’s play, The Battle of Alcazar. 

376 : 21. Newgate. The prison in London where executions 
take place. (See note 31:22.) Compter. Another prison in 
London where debtors were formerly confined. 

378 : 14. Welsh marches. The borderland on the frontiers 
between England and Wales. 

380 : 28. Aiguillettes. Points or tags at the end of a fringe 
or lace. 

380 : 29. Amazons. A legendary race of female warriors 
who lived in Scythia, north of the Black Sea. 

382 : 35. Druidical monuments called rocking-stones. In 
various parts of England, Scotland, Ireland, and France are 
found weatherbeaten pillars known as Druid stones; so called 
because it is thought that they mark places where the Druids or 
Celtic priests held religious services. 

383 : 4. Numa and Egeria. Numa, the second king of Rome, 
was advised in his legislation by the nymph Egeria. 

388 : 11. The Boleyns. An English family best known to 
history through Anne Boleyn, the second wife of Henry VIII. 
and mother of Elizabeth. 

392 : 25. Levanter. A strong easterly wind peculiar to the 
Mediterranean. 

392 : 26. Varium et mutabile. Changeful and capricious. 

396 : 2. Sae dirl. So thrill. (Scotch.) 

396 : 3. Wastes of Catlowdie. A desolate region in the 
mountains of Cumberland County, northwestern England. 

403 : 32. Main keep. The stronghold of a mediaeval castle. 

417 - 39 ! Michael Angelo. (1475-1564.) A famous Italian 
sculptor, painter, architect, and poet. 



NOTES 


&yj 

417 : 40. Chantry. (1781-1842.) A noted English sculptor 
and portrait painter. 

418 : 21 . Hypochondria than phrenesis. Melancholy than 

insanity. 

418 : 38. Juno-like form. Juno, the queen goddess of Roman 
mythology, is represented as robust in form. 

419 : 28. Belus. Baal, the sun god of the Assyrians and 
Babylonians. 

420 : 11 . Scalds. Poets or singers of the early Teutonic 
tribes. 

429 : 12. Odin. The chief god in Norse mythology, corre¬ 
sponding to the Anglo-Saxon Woden. Scott makes no distinc¬ 
tion between the two. 

420 : 31. Pyrrhic. An ancient Greek military dance. 

421 : 9. Fiend-born Merlin. The wizard Merlin was said to 
be of miraculous birth. (See note 348 : 12 .) 

436 : 3. True-hearted men of Coventry. The men of Cov¬ 
entry, a city in central England, were noted for their acting; 
their presentation of the Coventry mystery plays attracted 
wide attention. 

436 : 12 . Hocktide. The second Tuesday after Easter. 

437 : 14. Morrice dance. A dance once common in England, 
frequently performed in pageants, processions, and May games. 
The dancers, grotesquely garbed, took the parts of such char¬ 
acters as Robin Hood, Little John, etc. 

437 : 16. Mr. Bayes’s tragedy. The Rehearsal, written in 
1671 by George Yilliers, Duke of Buckingham, in which Bayes 
is the hero. 

437 :33. Captain Coxe. Probably Richard Tarleton, a 
famous clown and comic actor of Elizabeth’s time. He 
occupied the position of court jester for several years. 

437 : 42. Siege of Boulogne. Boulogne, a seaport in north¬ 
ern France, was besieged and captured by Henry VIII. in 1544. 

439 : 4. Amadis. The hero of a cycle of mediaeval romances 



NOTES 


£>03 


known as Amadis of Gaul. He is the oldest of the heroes of 
chivalry. Belianis. The hero of the romance, Don Belianis 
of Greece. Bevis. One of the knights of King Arthur’s Round 
Table. Guy of Warwick. A legendary hero of English 
romance. (See note 310 : 19.) 

448 : 20. Fens. A flat tract of country along the eastern 
coast of England which formerly was marshy. 

456 : 14. “That he had died without his shoes after all.” 
That he had died in bed. 

458 : 10. Ave Maria ora pro nobis. Hail, Mary, pray for 
us. 

470 : 35. “ The wicked man, saith Scripture, ” etc. See 
Psalms lxxiii. 4. 

471 : 26. But there was something retributive in his death. 

In a curious manuscript copy of the information given by 
Ben Jonson to Drummond of Hawthornden, as abridged by 
Sir Robert Sibbald, Leicester’s death is ascribed to poison 
administered as a cordial by his countess, to whom he had 
given it, representing it to be a restorative in any faintness, in 
the hope that she herself might be cut off by using it. The 
following satirical epitaph on Leicester occurs in Drummond’s 
Collections , but is evidently not of his composition : — 

EPITAPH ON THE ERLE OF LEISTER 

Here lies a valiant warrior, 

Who never drew a sword; 

Here lies a noble courtier, 

Who never kept his word; 

Here lies the Erie of Leister, 

Who govern’d the estates, 

Whom the earth could never living love, 

And the just Heaven now hates. 

— Laing. 







INDEX TO NOTES 


' A base besognio, etc., 492. 

Abye it, 479. 

Accolade, 500. 
iEtna, 496. 

Afrite, 497. 

A fury, 494. 

A house of removal, 485. 
Aiguillettes, 501. 

Albumazar, 493. 

A1 fresco, 493. 

Almains, 481. 

Alter ego, 494. 

Amadis, 502. 

Amazons, 501. 

Amorat, 487. 

Another-guess gentleman, 484. 
Autolycus’s profession, 493. 
Apocalypse, 494. 

Apostle Paul who kept, etc., 477. 
li Arcadia, 494. 
j Arcanum, 485. 

I Are you there with your bears? 
477. 

Arion, 498. 

A Rowland for thine Oliver, 496. 
Arrow, 484. 

Ascapart, 497. 

As she hesitated to pass on, etc., 
488. 

Astra regunt homines, etc., 491. 
At the bottom of a tin mine, 485. 
A tough fight, etc., 491. 

At quarter-staff, 490. 

Ave Maria ora pro nobis, etc., 
503. 


Bartholomew Fair, 498. 

Battle of Bosworth, 484. 

Battle of Stoke, 481. 

Bear the bell, 489. 

Belianus, 503. 

Bell-Savage, 486. 

Belus, 502. 

Bess of Bedlam, 497. 

Betwixt Hounslow and London, 
474. 

Bevis, 503. 

Bewrayed to my prejudice, 478. 
Beyond the Line, 480. 

Bilboa blades, 489. 

Black Bull, 484. 

Black Sanctus, 493. 

Blenheim House, 481. 

Bluff King Hal, 492. 

Board of Green Cloth, 496. 
Burleigh, 480. 

Burning bricks in Egypt, 494. 
But there was something, etc., 
503. 

By the eye, 481. 

By the rood, 481. 

Cabalists, like Dee and Allen, 478. 
Cacodemons, 498. 

Calipolis, 501. 

Cameradoes, 481. 

Camicise, 482. 

Canaries, 473. 

Cancer and Capricorn, 493. 

Cap’d verses with him, 489. 
Captain Coxe, 502. 


505 







506 


INDEX TO NOTES 


Casting bottles, 493. 

Castle-ditch of Aleppo, 486. 

C’est l’homme, etc., 485. 

Chantry, 502. 

Chesu, 493. 

Chopin, 497. 

City beheld by John, 494. 

Cod’s head, 500. 

Coelebs and sine prole, 485. 

Cog’s wounds, 480. 

Colbrand, 497. 

Compter, 501. 

Conjunction of Mars and Saturn, 
481. 

Convert my groats, etc., 476. 
Cornish lineage, 474. 

Corragio, 481. 

Coucher, 500. 

Cressidas, 489. 

Cressid was yours, etc., 489. 
Cumnor Place, 475. 

Cupid and Psyche, 478. 

Cup of Alicant, 478. 

Curetur jentaculum, 482. 

Cut boon whids, 484. 

Cutter’s law, 477. 

Darnley of Scotland, 491. 

Did the unfortunate Countess, 
etc., 497. 

Dionysius, 481. 

Drab-de-bure, 488. 

Druidical monuments, etc., 501. 
Dudman and Ramhead, 477. 
During the eighteenth of Eliza¬ 
beth, 473. 

Earl, 478. 

Eldorado, 474. 

Eleanor and your fair Rosamond, 
500. 


Ell-wand, 492. 

English Garter, 478. 

Epicurus, 482. 

Erasmus, 482. 

Erasmus ab Fausto, 483. 

Ergo, heus, Ricarde! etc., 484. 
Esculapius, 490. 

Et sic de cseteris, 483. 

Eumenides, Stygiumque nefas, 
484. 

Excalibur, 495. 

Ex nomine cujus venit, etc., 483. 

Faber Ferrarius, 482. 

Fatidicse, 499. 

Favete linguis, 481. 

Felix bis terque, 482. 

Fens, 503. 

Festina lente, 483. 

Field of Mars, etc., 473. 
Fiend-born Merlin, 502. 

Flanders, 477. 

Flight shot, 484. 

Fcenum habet in cornu, 482. 
Furens quid fcemina, 494. 

Future Augustus, 491. 

Gaudet nomine Sibyllse, 496. 
Geber, 483. 

Giant Briareus, 478. 

God bless the mark, 498. 

God ield thee, etc., 493. 
Gogsnouns, 480. 

Gold pieces of Philip and Mary, 
479. 

Grand magisterium, 492. 

Grave Maurice, 473. 

Groyne, 473. 

Guy of Warwick, 500. 

Hali, 491. 







INDEX TO NOTES 


Hand-gallop, 496. 

Happy man be his dole, 496. 

I Harlequin’s wooden sword, 482. 
tjl Haro, 495. 

! Harry Baillie of the Tabard, 473. 
I Harry nobles, 476. 

'! Haruspices, 491. 

; Head-borough, 476. 

| Heart-spone, 494*. 

Heptarchy, 497. 
j Here is proper gear, 477. 

Hermetic artist, 491. 

{ Hocktide, 502. 

! Hue and cry, 480. 

Hyman, 491. 

Hypochondria than phrenesis, 
502. 

In cuerpo, 488. 

Indamira, 487. 

In rerum natura, 477. 

In the gross, 494. 

; Is he a Corinthian, etc., 476. 

It may be we shall not need, etc., 
492. 

Jack pudding, 484. 

Jewish Cabala, 492. 

Jowring, 493. 

Judicial astrology, 491. 

Jumps, 481. 

Junius Juvenalis, 482. 

Juno-like form, 502. 

Ka me, ka thee, 478. 

King Cambyses’s vein, 495. 

Lachrymse, 486. 

Ladies of Parnassus, 491. 

Lady of the Lake, 499. 

Laquei amoris, etc., 485. 


50 r 

Largesse — largesse, etc., 500. 
Latitudmarian nor precisian, 479. 
Lawn as white as driven snow, 
etc., 493. 

Letter tan, 483. 

Levanter, 501. 

Lex Julia, 494. 

Liberties of Warwick, 499. 

Like the devil looking over Lin¬ 
coln, 474. 

Like the wicked Ahab, 495. 
Limbo, 498. 

Lindabrides, 476. 

Linguae Latinae, etc., 482. 
Lombard Street, 474. 

Lord Hunsdon, 488. 

Low Countries, 473. 

Lucina fer opem, 496. 

Ludi magister, 483. 

Maestricht, 474. ■ 

Magister artium, 483. 

Main keep, 501. 

Manna of St. Nicholas, 485. 
Manna of Satan, 494. 

Marcus Tullius, 483. 

Maro, 483. 

Master Ascham, 489. 

Master Edmund Spenser, 490. 
Master W r alter Wittypate, 487. 
Match for match, 486. 

Matomoros, 489. 

Mayor of Halgaver, 477. 

Meridian of the ante-chamber, 
480. 

Mi anime, etc., 484. 

Michael Angelo, 501. 

Milan visor, 477. 

Minikin, 498. 

Mr. Bayes’s tragedy, 502. 

Mr. Evelyn, 487. 








508 


INDEX TO NOTES 


Monsieur, 486. 

Morior — mortuus sum, etc., 474. 
Morpheus, 478. 

Morrice dance, 502. 

Mortimer, Earl of March, 496. 
Mulciber, 483. 

Nequisquam Ajacem, etc., 492. 
Ne semissem quidem, 482. 
Newgate, 501. 

Nil ultra, 491. 

Nostra paupera regna, 482. 

Now Robin Hood drew his sword, 
etc., 493. 

Nugse, 484. 

Numa and Egeria, 501. 

Odin, 502. 

Of whom I have read, etc., 500. 
Old John of Gaunt, 497. 

Once been parterres, 476. 

One of the graces, 494. 

Oons, 495. 

Order of St. Andrew, 479. 

Order of the Golden Fleece, 479. 
Orion, 498. 

Orlando Furioso, 500. 

Orvietan, 486. 

Outrance, 478. 

/ 

Palabras, 484. 

Paris and Menelaus, 490. 
Parish-top, 492. 

Pauca verba, 482. 

Paynim, 495. 

Pays his shot, 474. 

Persius, 483. 

Pertaesa barbarse loquelae, 499. 
Philippine cheney, 495. 

Philip Sydney, 490. 

Picture of Lot’s wife, 496. 


Pindaric, 500. 

Posy, 478. 

Potosi, 493. 

Prigged a prancer, 495. 

Primo Henrici Septimi, 485. 
Projection, 491. 

Purlieus of Whitefriars, 476. 
Pusey horn, 485. 

Put not your trust, etc., 500. 
Putting the jape, 477. 

Put up your fox, 477. 

Pyrrhic, 502. 

Quasi lucus a non lucendo, 482. 
Queen Mary’s days, etc., 479. 
Quid hoc ad Iphycli boves, 483. 
Quid mihi cum caballo, 481. 
Quintilian, 482. 

Raddled, 493. 

Ralph Sadler, 480. 

Ram’s Alley, 489. 

Rare Gillian of Croydon, 496. 
Raro antecedentum, 498. 

Recte quidem, etc., 496. 

Region of the sylphs, 501. 
Reguardant, 485. 

Ricarde! adsis, nebulo, 483. 

Sae dirl, 500. 

St. Anthony, 477. 

St. Antonlin’s, 477. 

St. Austen’s Eve, 485. 

St. Barnaby, 498. 

St. Christopher, 498. 

St. John’s Berg, 492. 

St. Julian, 476. 

St. Lucy’s Eve, 484. 

St. Luke’s Hospital, 495. 

St. Michael’s Mount, 475. 

St. Peter of the Fetters, 498. 




INDEX TO NOTES 


509 


Saltim, banqui, etc., 483. 

Salve, domine, 482. 

Santo Diavolo, 498. 

Sat beneath the|salt, 479. 

Saul among the prophets, 500. 
’Sblood, 493. 

Scalds, 502. 

Scottish wild cattle, 491. 

Scylla, 490. 

Seiant and passant, 485. 

Set up a bush over thy door, 478. 
Seven Sleepers, 477. 

Shag-headed Irish kerns, 488. 
Shannon, 488. 

Sheffield whittle, 498. 

Sheres, 473. 

She-wolf of France, 497. 

Shog, 477. 

Shooter’s hill, 480. 

Shot window, 495. 

Siege of Boulogne, 502. 

Siege of the Brill, 473. 

Siege of Yenlo, 473. 

Si fixum solvas, etc., 484. 

Single falchion, 490. 

Sir John Harrington, 494. 

Sir Pandarus of Troy, 500. 
Skenes, 490. 

’Slocket with thy packet, etc., 
493. 

Sold himself to the devil, etc., 
476. 

Son of Anak, 497. 

Spanish ruff, 493. 

Stand and deliver, 474. 

Star Chamber, 495. 

Sussex, 480. 

Talisman, 489. 

Tertio Marise, 485. 

That he had died, etc., 503. 


That very time I saw, etc., 491. 
The bear brooks no one, etc., 480. 
The Boleyns, 501. 

The compass of a Tyburn tippet, 
476. 

The divine art, etc., 491. 

The Duke of Norfolk’s affair, 475. 
The Earl of Leicester, etc., 499. 
The fall of Phaeton, 478. 

The Fortune, 484. 

The Globe, 484. 

The magicians strove, etc., 494. 
The patriarch Abraham, etc., 494. 
The philosopher’s stone, 476. 

The two nobles who at present, 
etc., 487. 

The wicked man, etc., 503. 

The wisest clerks, etc., 499. 
Thomas Cromwell, 480. 

Three Cranes, 473. 

Tiring room, 478. 

To finesse, 487. 

To kindle the pile, etc., 475. 
Tokay, 486. 

Toledo, 496. 

Trained as espaliers, 476. 
Trismegistus, 494. 

Tritons, Nereids, 499. 
True-hearted men of Coventry, 
502. 

Truepenny, 493. 

Tuguria, 482. 

Turnball Street, 495. 

Two famed classic streams, 489. 
Tyrant Naas, 495. 

Uds daggers, 476. 

Under the rose, 474. 

Unfortunate Mary, 490. 

Up seyes, 494. 

Usher of the Black Rod, 489. 








510 


INDEX TO NOTES 


Vale of Whitehorse, 481. 

Varium et mutabile, 501. 

Venus and Adonis, 490. 

Via, 480. 

Vivats, 500. 

Voto a Dios, 474. 

Walsingham, 480. 

Wastes of Catlowdie, 501. 

Wear a hook at his girdle, 477. 
Welsh marches, 501. 

What man that sees, etc., 487. 
What stir, what turmoil, etc., 499. 


Wife of Bath, 496. 

Wild legend of Wayland Smith, 
485. 

Will Shakespeare, 490. 

Wilt thou bet a piece of Hollands, 
etc., 475. 

Wise widow of Tekoa, 495. 
Withal, 477. 

Won’d, 484. 

Woodstock, 480. 

Young widow of France, etc., 
479. 







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